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THIS volume is designed to satisfy a need which during the past two genera 
tions has been variously and often expressed. The ambition of the editor 
ias been to provide an accurate and complete text, with adequate critical and 
supplementary matter, of all those plays which can, without entire absurdity, 
be included in the ' doubtfully Shakespearian ' class. A similar work to 
3omprise the first thirteen dramas in this book, in addition to The Arraign 
ment of Paris, The Death of Studey, and The Siege of Antwerp appears, indeed, 
on the list of suggested publications of the New Shakspere Society (Trans 
actions, 1874, p. 4), but it did not get beyond the stage of projection. 

Since the days of Malone, only three of the works before us Arden of Fever - 
sham, The Two Noble Kinsmen, and Sir Thomas More have appeared in English- 
speaking countries in what can at all justly be termed independently edited 
texts. Tolerable versions of four others have been published by Germans in 
editions now practically unprocurable. As regards the other seven plays, no 
real attempt at purification of the text or collation of the early editions has been 
made, if made at all, for more than two centuries, and in the case of Sir John 
Oldcastle, it has remained for this book to give the very first reprint of what is 
most unmistakably the only reliable and uncorrupted version. Thus consider 
able and important passages appear here for the first time since 1600. 

In the preparation of the body of the text, the main object has been to give 
a faithful reproduction of the most authoritative edition of each play ; that is, 
of the .earliest, except in the rare instances where a later edition is demonstrably 
truer to the author's manuscript. Supplementary passages are printed, within 
brackets, from the earliest edition which contains them. Where a variant or an 
jmendation has appeared inevitable, it has been adopted, but the reading of the 
diti<> princeps has invariably been given in the footnotes. Great pains have 
been taken it is hoped with a fair measure of success to register in the foot 
notes all variants in accessible sixteenth and seventeenth-century editions which 
ire not purely orthographic, and all such later emendations and conjectures as 
possess any degree of usefulness or probability. 

Silent alteration of the original has been tolerated only in such purely mechani- 
3al matters as the abandonment of the long ' s ' ; the correction of obviously 
unintentional mis-spacing ; the rectifying of the most transparent typographical 
errors, such as Flaundsrs for Flaunders (Edward HI, I. i. 151) and thinekst for 
'hinkc-st (Ibid. n. i. 98) ; and the introduction of modern punctuation where the 

sense would otherwise be unintelligible to the ordinary reader. The old punctua 
tion is, however, retained where possible, and all misprints which can conceivably 
have interest or significance are recorded in the footnotes. The numeration of 
lines is, of course, new, and it should be noted that the parts of divided metrical 
lines are often separately numbered for convenience of reference and in order to 
preserve the appearance of the original page. 

It is believed that the text will be found as free from inaccuracy as a reprint 
can well be made. Except for the few additional passages from the third quarto 
of Mucedorus, personally copied by the editor, transcription has in no case been 
trusted. The texts of the six plays contained in the third Shakespeare folio 
and that of the first edition of Mucedorus have been based on photographic 
facsimiles of the original quartos ; the other plays are printed from the best 
modern old-spelling editions very carefully corrected by the originals. The 
collation of the early editions has been done twice to ensure accuracy, and the 
proof sheets revised by the original quartos. Particular care has been taken to 
verify readings which are in opposition to those recorded by other modern editors. 

The general notes are to be considered in connexion with the footnotes. 
They have been kept within modest compass, and their raison d'etre the explana 
tion or defence of the readings of the text has perhaps not often been lost sight 
of. If more general comments have here and there intruded themselves, it is 
trusted that they will be found always to serve some more legitimate purpose 
than the mere display of ' all such reading as was never read '. 

Like so many students of Elizabethan literature, I have to acknowledge 
a large debt of gratitude to Mr. P. A. Daniel. My obligations to him for textual 
comments and conjectures, particularly relating to The Merry Devil of Edmonton 
and The Two Noble Kinsmen, will, I hope, be sufficiently evident from the notes 
to those plays ; but for a great deal of other trouble willingly undertaken on my 
behalf I have only this opportunity of rendering my sincere thanks. I am 
equally indebted to Dr. Furnivall for unfailing interest and sympathy as well as 
for a number of valuable suggestions for my Introduction ; and I gladly take 
this occasion of expressing also my recognition of Dr. W. Aldis Wright's courtesy 
to me while reading in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, and since. 

Finally, it is with especial pleasure that I acknowledge my many obligations 
to Professor Raleigh, to whom are due both the original inspiration for this book 
and continued helpful encouragement during its preparation. It is my sincere 
hope that the volume may be regarded as a testimony and a small tribute to 
the force of his influence and example. 

C. F. T. B 
January, 1908. 





The ' doubtful plays ' in general, p. vi. The history of their ascrip 
tion, p. vii. Complete list of plays attributed to Shakespeare, p. ix. Chrono 
logical list of the plays in this volume, p. xi. Comparison of the authentic 
and the doubtful plays, p. xi. Had Shakespeare any interest in the doubtful 
plays ? p. xii. Arden of Feversham, p. xiii. Locrine, p. xv. Edward III, 
p. xx. Mucedorus, p. xxiii. Sir John Oldcastle, p. xxvi. Thomas Lord Crom 
well, p. xxviii. The London Prodigal, p. xxix. The Puritan, p. xxx. A 
Yorkshire Tragedy, p. xxxiii. The Merry Devil of Edmonton, p. xxxvi. Fair 
Em, p. xxx \ iii. The Two Noble Kinsmen, p. xl. The Birth of Merlin, p. xlv. 
Sir Thomas More, p. xl\ ii. The editorial history of the doubtful plays, p. liv. 






Appendix to MUCEDORUS . . . . . 120 

SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE ..<... . . 127 






FAIR EM ... 285 




Appendix to SIR THOMAS MORE . . .418 


Arden of Feversham, p. 421. Locrine, p. 422. Edward III, p. 422. 
Mucedorus, p. 423. Oldcastle, p. 424. Cromwell, p. 426. The London 
Prodigal, p. 427. The Puritan, p. 428. A Yorkshire Tragedy, p. 429. The 
Merry Devil of Edmonton, p. 430. Fair Em, p. 432. The Two Noble 
Kinsmen, p. 432. The Birth of Merlin, p. 435. Sir Thomas More, p. 436. 



THE Shakespeare Apocrypha are indisputably the work of many hands, 
varying to the extreme of possibility in strength, in skill, and in manner. Not 
even the amateur Tieck, insatiable in his quest of literary curios, has had the 
hardihood to ascriba the entire number to the greatest of the Elizabethans. 
Yet unequal as they are in literary merit, these plays diverge still more, if 
possible, in subject-matter, style, and general tone. Between certain individuals 
of the group, indeed, a few similarities may be noted and a few comparisons 
drawn ; but to attempt to treat the collection comprehensively and as a generic 
whole would bs like undertaking a family history of Falstaff's motley company. 
The pseudo-Shakespearian plays are waifs and strays of the Elizabethan drama, 
brought together adventitiously from here, there, and everywhere, and with no 
common bond but that mighty name, beneath whose broad influence they 
all seek shelter. 

Disconcerting though it is to the commentator, this infinite variety yet lends 
a special zest to the consideration of the pseudo-Shakespearian cycle. The 
plays are almost without exception interesting, but for very different reasons. 
Two of them, Arden of Fever sham and The Two Noble Kinsmen, and probably 
they alone, can rest their case boldly on their character as artistic wholes and 
claim a position, when judged thus in their entirety, in the very first rank of the 
extra-Shakespearian drama. Three others Edward III, A Yorkshire Tragedy, 
and Sir Thomas More failing either in dignity or in unity of outline, rise in 
parts to an equal height of poetry, a height where the question becomes less 
whether they are good enough for Shakespeare than whether they are like him. 

The remaining members of the group belong distinctly to a lower order, 
that is, except on the theory of apprentice work or the hastiest of retouching, 
modern criticism can hardly admit their claim of Shakespearian origin to be 
even plausible. Yet there is scarcely any other dramatist of the period, save 
Marlowe and Ben Jonson, whose reputation would suffer by the fathering of 
plays like The London Prodigal, The Merry Devil of Edmonton, or The Puritan. 

As there is no difficulty in selecting the five best pseudo-Shakespearian 
dramas, so there need be little hesitation in pointing out the worst. Literary and 
dramaturgical considerations would pretty certainly assign the position of 
discredit to Fair Em and Mucedoriis, productions that bear the mark of vaga 
bondage on every feature. Yet, for the reader of to-day, these plays, distinctly 
the weaklings of the flock, possess an attractiveness of their own by very virtue 
of their dull impersonality, because they display so little of the individual author 
and so much of the vulgar dramatic taste. Such literary phenomena evolve 
themselves, they are not created ; the writer docs no more than drift down the 


current of theatrical convention, and is doubtless as undiscoverable certainly 
as little worth discovering as the author of a political election song or a low 
melodrama of a generation ago. 

There is a curious dramatic irony in the fact that Mucedorus and Fair Em 
have been attributed by serious and respectable critics to the pen of Shakespeare. 
Composed in utter disregard of probability and reason, with little poetry and less 
psychology with no particular merit, indeed, but the freshness that comes of 
complete unintelligent conventionality these performances made their appeal 
frankly to the groundlings. In the case of Mucedorus, at least, we know that the 
appeal was enormously successful. This absurd play, with the merits and defects 
of a nursery tale, was acted by strolling companies everywhere till long after the 
Commonwealth, and passed through seventeen editions between 1598 and 1700, 
a record unequalled in the history of the pre-Restoration drama. The only play 
of the pseudo-Shakespearian class, which can at all compare with Mucedorus 
in popularity with the early book-publishers, is a considerably better comedy 
of similar kind, The Merry Devil of Edmonton. Six quarto editions of the latter 
are recorded between 1608 and 1655. It may be added, as a commentary on 
Shakespeare knowledge after the Restoration, that Mucedorus, Fair Em, and 
The Merry Devil of Edmonton, were bound together into a volume for the library 
of King Charles II with the label, ' Shakespeare. Vol. I.' 

The Shakespeare Apocryplia have been accumulating during three centuries. 
Each generation has attributed to the poet, in good faith or in fraud, tentatively 
or with conviction, the authorship of plays with which his name had not previously 
been connected. At the same time, certain plays once ascribed to Shakespeare 
have gradually disappeared from the list, as the actual authors have been dis 
covered or the absurdity of the ascription has made itself generally felt. In the 
present state of the case, the preparation of an adequate and practical catalogue 
of pseudo -Shakespearian plays is a matter of some difficulty. The epithet 
' pseudo-Shakespearian ' no longer carries with it any presumption as to Shake 
speare's authorship. Certain plays, a baker's dozen in all, have acquired a pre 
scriptive right to the title, and must be mentioned in every list ; twenty or thirty 
others have at various times been proposed, with greater or less diffidence, but 
are still far from having established their position in the category. In regard 
to these last, each writer on the subject must decide for himself which may 
be admitted into the ' doubtfully Shakespearian ' class without offence to the 
rules of critical seemliness. The catalogue of a seventeenth -century bookseller, 
for instance, gives to Shakespeare three histories : Edward II, Edward III, and 
Edward IV. The second of these is universally regarded as one of the doubtful 
plays, but to admit into the group either of the others, known to be by Marlowe 
and Heywood respectively, would show an absurdly uncritical deference to the 
blunder or deceit of the bookseller, the only mortal who has ever hinted at the 

The long critical history of the Shakespeare Apocrypha divides itself into three 


pretty well defined epochs. The first, which lasted from the close of the sixteenth 
century till well into the eighteenth, was the age of purely unliterary attribution. 
Plays were stated on title-pages, on the Stationers' Registers, or in book-lists to be 
by William Shakespeare, and there, for a time, the matter ended. No evidence, 
internal or external, was adduced in support of the attribution, and in few cases 
or none could the attributors by any stretch of the imagination be called literary 
critics. Such ascriptions are either the most authoritative of all, or they are 
utterly valueless ; they may rest on personal knowledge or general contemporary 
report ; they may, on the other hand, be no more than the fabrication of an 
ignorant or fraudulent bookseller. It requires a considerable amount of boldness 
to deny the possibility of Shakespeare's concern in The Two Noble Kinsmen, in 
the face of the title-page of the first edition, 1 which declares it to be ' written 
by the memorable Worthies of their time ; Mr. John Fletcher, and Mr. William 
Shakespeare, Gentlemen ' ; and the evidence of the Stationers' Registers 2 and 
first edition 2 of A Yorkshire Tragedy in favour of Shakespeare's authorship of 
that play is perhaps even stronger, because dating from the poet's lifetime. Yet 
an edition of Sir John Oldcastle in 1600 likewise bears the words, ' Written by 
William Shakespeare,' and this boast, absurd on the face of it, is proved menda 
cious beyond the shadow of a doubt, by the record in Henslowe's Diary of the 
actual authors : Munday, Drayton, Wilson, and Hathway. To sum up, we have 
in the seventeenth century practically no evidence to indicate that Shakespeare's 
dramatic activities extended beyond the list of canonical plays, save that of 
printers, publishers, and stationers. This evidence is worthy of serious con 
sideration in case, and only in case, there is no prima jade cause to believe the 
witnesses grossly ignorant of the matter, or dishonestly intent on palming of? 
their spurious wares as the works of Shakespeare. 

The generation of Capell, Steevens, and Malone, ushered in the second epoch 
in the criticism of the doubtful plays. They and their followers took a purely 
literary point of view, judging the dramas on catholic lines and, in general, with 
accuracy and fairness, though they suffered from inadequate comprehension of 
the peculiarly distinguishing features of Shakespeare's art and placed a mis 
chievous amount of confidence in such vanities as parallel passages and identical 
archaisms. This tendency of criticism to which the apocryphal plays owe as 
much perhaps, after all, as to any that has so far succeeded it vanished in 
a burst of midsummer madness with the wild attributions of Tieck and his 
romantic satellites. 

For these last, Germans all, and incapable of appreciating the delicacies of 
English style, Shakespeare appears to have meant rather a poetic principle than 
a poet. Dazed by the newly discovered and ill-understood brilliance of the 
Shakespearian drama, they tended to appropriate to the individual poet qualities 
of freshness and freedom which, in truth, were the common property of the age. 
To this misconception and to the desire, so characteristic of later German 
1 1634. = Both in 1608. 


criticism, to outstrip Shakespeare's countrymen in magnifying his name, is due 
without doubt Tieck's championship of the genuineness of plays like Mucedorus 
and George a Greene. 

Many of the utterances of Tieck and Schlegel concerning the doubtful plays 
form a crushing though unconscious parody of the general impressionist method 
inaugurated by Capell and Malone. The generation that followed Tieck saw 
the rise in England of the third tendency in the criticism of the Shakespeare 
Apocrypha. Here, as elsewhere, the trend of the time was towards more exact 
knowledge, towards the careful consideration and classification of minutiae ; 
for the first time an attempt was made, and with a good measure of success, to 
establish definite criteria for style and spirit, whereby the work of one dramatist 
might be distinguished from that of another. The most tangible, but surely 
not the sole result of this effort is the development of the ' metrical tests '. Tho 
new system, however, is at least as liable to abuse as that which it superseded ; 
at its best, exact knowledge of metrical and dramatic details shows itself chastened 
and directed by broad literary appreciation, as in Professor Spalding's essay on 
the authorship of The Two Noble Kinsmen ; at its worst, as in some of Mr. Fleay's 
radical pronunciamentoes, the ultimately all-important considerations of tone 
and spirit are either slighted or forced into unwilling compliance with the results 
of statistical tabulation. 

The following is a list, as complete as seems practicable, of the uncanonical 
plays which have been ascribed to Shakespeare arranged roughly according to 
the date of attribution : 

1. The First Part of Sir John Oldcastle, 1600. In this year appeared two 
editions, one anonymous, the other bearing the words : ' Written by William 

2. The London Prodigal, 1605. 

3. A Yorkshire Tragedy, 1608. 

4. 5. The Troublesome Reign of King John, in two parts. The title-page of 
the edition of 1611 says : ' Written by W. Sh.' The earlier edition of 1591 was 
anonymous. There can be little doubt that the public was meant to interpret 
' W. Sh.' as ' William Shakespeare ', and these words indeed appeared in full 
on the title-page of the third edition (1622). 

6, 7. The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of Yorke 
and Lancaster and The True Tragedy of Richard, Duke of Yorke. These old plays 
were reprinted in 1619 for T. P(avier), the title-page asserting them to be ' written 
by William Shakespeare, Gent.' 

8. The Taming of a Shrew. Ascribed to Shakespeare in Smetwick's reprint, 
1631. The first edition 1 is anonymous. 

9. The Two Noble Kinsmen. Attributed to Fletcher and Shakespeare on 
title-page of the first edition, 1634. 

10. The Merry Devil of Edmonton. Entered by H. Moseley in 1653 as by 
Shakespeare. All the early editions are anonymous. 

11. 12. Henry I and Henry II, ' by Wm. Shakespeare and Robert Davenport,' 
so entered Sept. 9, 1653. 

13. The History of Gardenia, ' A Play by Mr. Fletcher and Shakespeare ; ' 

1 1594. 
a 3 

entered Sept. 9, 1653. It has been suggested that this play is identical with 
Double Falsehood (No. 25). 

14. The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Entered Sept. 9, 1653, but read in MS. 
and approved by Sir George Buc as early as Oct. 31, 1611 ; printed 1824. 1 This 
is one of the three survivors of Warburton's famous collection of fifty-three 
manuscript plays, the rest of which were sacrificed by his cook to make pie- 
covers ; in this way perished the only known copies of Nos. 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 
which were likewise in Warburton's possession. The Second Maidens Tragedy 
was labelled by Warburton ' A Play by William Shakespeare ', but has been 
attributed also to Th. Goff and to Chapman. 

15, 16, 17. The History of King Stephen ; Duke Humphrey, a Tragedy ; 
Iphis and lanthe, or a Marriage without a Man. All these were entered on 
June 29, 1660, under Shakespeare's name. No. 16 may be a version of Henry VI, 
Part 2. 

18. The Arraignment of Paris,* by Peele ; ascribed to Shakespeare in the 
catalogues of the booksellers Kirkman, Winstanley, and others, 1656-70. 

19. The Birth of Merlin. The first edition, 1662, claims William Shakespeare 
and William Rowley as joint authors. 

20. 21. Fair Em and Mucedorus. A volume in Charles the Second's library, 
which contained these two plays and The Merry Devil of Edmonton, bore on the 
outside the title, ' Shakespeare. Vol. I.' 

22, 23, 24. The Puritan, Tlwmas Lord Cromwell, Locrine. The first edition 
of each of these plays gives the author merely as ' W. S.' The earliest definite 
connexion with Shakespeare is their inclusion together with Oldcastle, The 
London Prodigal, A Yorkshire Tragedy, and Pericles in the third Shakespeare 
folio, 1664. 

25. Double Falsehood, or The Distrest Lovers. Assigned to Shakespeare, 
perhaps fraudulently, by Theobald in the preface to the first edition. 1728. 

26, 27, 28. Edward II (1594), Edward III, Edward IV (1600). Casually 
listed as Shakespeare's in an early bookseller's catalogue. Edward HI w r as first 
seriously ascribed to Shakespeare by Capell in 1760. 

29. Arden of Feversham. Shakespearian authorship was first suggested by 
Edward Jacob in 1770. 

30, 31. King Leir and his Daughters (1605) and George a Greene, the Pinner 
of Wakefield (1599). First attributed by Tieck ; * 31 is now accepted as Robert 

32, 33, 34. Wily Beguiled (1606), Satiro-Mastix (1602), A Warning for Fair 
Women (1599). Ascribed to Shakespeare by W. Bernhardi 4 in 1856; 33 is 
probably by Dekker. 

35. Sir Thomas More. First printed, 1844 ; Shakespeare's part authorship 
suggested by Simpson in 1871. 

From Mr. Simpson's list of doubtful plays B may be added for the sake of 
completeness : 

36. The Merry Wives of 1602. 

37. 38. The Prodigal Son and Titus and Vespasia(n) ; * both preserved only 
in worthless old German translations. 

1 In vol. i of The Old English Drama, London. 2 1st ed., 1584. 

3 Altenglisches Theater, oder Supplemente zum Shakespeare. Berlin, 1811. 
* Hamburger Litter aturblatt, No. 79. 

5 Transactions, New Shaksperc Society, 1875-6, p. 155 ff. 

6 Mentioned by Henslowe. An early version of Titus Andronicus, printed in 
Cohn's Shakespeare in Germany. London, 1865. 


39. The lost Hamlet of 1589 and ' Corambis ' Hamlet of 1603. 

40. The True Tragedy of Richard III. First edition, 1594. 

41. A Larum for London, or the Siege of Antwerp, 1602. 1 

42. Albumazar ; generally accepted as the work of Tomkis. First edition 
in 1615. 

From this catalogue 2 Pericles and Titus Andronicus are designedly omitted 
because they have established their position in practice, if not in universal 
opinion, among the genuine works. It is hardly necessary to call attention to 
the further omission of such transparent and confessed forgeries as Vortigern 3 
and Henry the Second,* by W. H. Ireland, and The Fifth of November ; or The 
Gunpowder Plot, 5 by George Ambrose Rhodes. 

Of the forty- two ' doubtful plays ' just enumerated, only thirteen can be 
regarded as having acquired a real claim to the title ; to these thirteen is added 
in the present volume Sir Thomas More, a play discovered less than a century 
ago and destitute, therefore, of prescriptive right of membership. Yet the 
evidence, internal and external, which can be submitted in defence of the pleasing 
idea that Shakespeare had a reviser's part in the authorship of Sir Thomas More 
is of so interesting and plausible a nature that no apology seems necessary for its 
inclusion. The following, then, are the names and earliest dates of publication 
of the fourteen dramas here reprinted, which alone appear entitled, on grounds 
either of reason or of custom, to a place among the Shakespeare Apocrypha : 

I. Arden of Fever sham, 1592. 
II. Locrine, 1595. 
III. Edward III, 1596. 
IV. Mucedorus, 1598. 

V. The First Part of Sir John Oldcastle," 1600. 
VI. Thomas Lord Cromwell, 1602. 
VII. The London Prodigal, 1605. 
VIII. The Puritan, 1607. 
IX. A Yorkshire Tragedy, 1608. 
X. The Merry Devil of Edmonton, 1608. 

XI. Fair Em. First edition not dated ; second edition, 1631. 
XII. The Two Noble Kinsmen, 1634. 
XIII. The Birth of Merlin, 1662. 
XIV. Sir Thomas More, 7 1840. 

The exact likelihood of Shakespeare's connexion with any member of this 
various group must be determined by careful individual examination. On the 
whole, it may be said, the reader will be impressed more with the unlikeness of 
the doubtful to the authentic plays than with their likeness. 

There can, indeed, be no stronger vindication of the honesty and intelligence 
of the editors of the first Shakespeare Folio, Hemings and Condell, than careful 
study of the works which they excluded. As all attempts to deprive the poet of 

1 Reprinted, 1872, by R. Simpson, School of Shakespeare, No. 1. 

2 For several other utterly absurd attributions cf. the catalogue of 1656 mentioned 
in my Bibliography, V. (b) 1 (p. 454). 

3 1799. Reprinted 1832. 4 1799. 5 1830. 

6 The second part of this play is not extant. 7 Date of composition circa 1590. 


a large interest in any of the thirty-six plays published by them have so far 
failed, so it seems in the highest degree improbable that their list will ever be 
augmented by more than the genuine act or two of Perides and a few broken 
fragments which Shakespeare would doubtless have been the last of all men to 
include among his works. 

As regards the fundamental matters of plot and dramatic structure, there 
is no member of the Shakespeare Apocrypha, with the exception possibly of 
The Two Noble Kinsmen, which displays special kinship with any genuine play. 
There is not, for instance, a single French or Italian plot to be found in the doubt 
ful group and, except in the case of Mucedorus and The Two Noble Kinsmen, the 
leading characters are invariably English. In the Shakespeare canon the matter 
is entirely different ; if we leave out of account the ten English histories, we 
find that fourteen out of twenty-seven genuine works have French or Italian 
plots, derived usually directly or indirectly from novels; while (with the necessary 
exception again of the ten histories, the closely associated Merry Wives of Windsor, 
and the three mythical British dramas) not a single authentic play is avowedly 
English either in scene or characters. 

Moreover, seven of the apocryphal dramas belong to well-defined dramatic 
species, of which there is not a single instance among Shakespeare's accepted 
works, and which there is inherent reason for supposing he would have avoided. 
These species are : 

1. What may be termed the ' biographical history ', represented by Sir John 
Oldcastle, Thomas Lord Cromwell, and Sir Thomas More. Such dramas depict 
in loosely cohering scenes disconnected passages from the life of the hero ; struc 
tural chaos is the prerequisite of their existence. To this group belong also the 
first two acts of Perides which arc certainly un-Shakespearian. 

2. The dramatic record of contemporary crime. Arden of Feversham and 
A Yorkshire Tragedy are remarkably fine instances of a class which, because it 
concerns itself primarily with actual physical horror, can scarcely rise to the 
level of high art. 

3. Comedy of contemporary London manners, of which The London Prodigal 
and The Puritan are examples. This type of drama, superlatively interesting 
to our age for its richness of topical allusion, is opposed to the method of Shake 
speare, who sets his realistic sketches against a romantic background and never 
condescends, like Ben Jonson and the author of these plays, to copy the life 
before his door in all its uninspiring mediocrity. 

It seems improbable, then, for many reasons, that Shakespeare had an interest 
in the original construction of any of the doubtful plays. When we consider 
the possibility, however, of his co-operation in the capacity of reviser or elaborator, 
there is less cause for disbelief. During his long and many-sided connexion with 
the stage, the poet-manager would doubtless have had occasion to retouch and 
refine much of the inferior work which came to his company. Several of the 
canonical plays bear witness that Shakespeare did, indeed, follow this usual 


Elizabethan practice, but his acknowledged works would not naturally, and do 
not, include his slight or casual revisionary labours. It is at present a thoroughly 
permissible belief, though one which can hardly be strengthened into certainty, 
that some of the splendid passages in the best apocryphal plays are thus the 
hasty and fragmentary creation of the master's hand. More exact knowledge 
as to this and other points of interest can be acquired only, if at all, from the study 
of the individual plays, to the separate discussion of which we may now proceed. 

I. Arden of. Feversham was entered on the Stationers' Register on April 3, 
1592. 1 The same year appeared the first edition, in quarto (Q. 1), with the follow 
ing title-page : ' The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in 
Kent. Who was most wickedlye murdered, by the meanes of his disloyall and wanton 
wyfe, who for the loue she bare to one Mosbie, hyred two desperat ruffins Blackwill 
and Shakbag, to kill him. W her in is shewed the great mallice and discimulation 
of a wicked woman, the vnsatiable desire of filthie lust and the shamefull end of all 
murderers. Jmprinted at London for Edward White, dwelling at the lyttle North 
dore of Paules Church at the signe of the Gun. 1592.' 

This edition, of which copies are preserved m the Bodleian and in the Dyce 
Collection, South Kensington, is in black letter ; it gives a remarkably good text 
and appears to have been closely followed by the second edition (Q. 2), of 1599. 
The only copy of Q. 2 known to exist is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire. 
In 1633 a third quarto (Q. 3) was published ; this poor edition, which is to be 
found both in the Bodleian and in the British Museum, has a different pagination 
from Q. 1, and is especially remarkable for the number of words it omits. 

The murder which Arden of Feversham represents took place on February 15, 
1550-1 considerably more than a generation, therefore, before the publication 
of the first edition, or the earliest date (1590) to which the actual writing of the 
play can easily be referred. Yet there can be no doubt that popular interest 
in the event was still lively and widespread. Holinshed's Chronicle contains 
a detailed account, which many common inaccuracies and embellishments 
show to have been followed closely by the author of the tragedy. S tow's 
Chronicle gives a brief narrative of the crime and its punishment, while the actual 
facts are recorded in the Wardmote Book of Faversham. 

To the dramatic talent of Holinshed we seem to owe the story of the repeated 
unsuccessful attempts on Arden's life, and the merging of tho two colourless 
individuals of the Wardmote Book into the single effective figure of Susan. Finally 
the Roxburghe Collection preserves a long ballad of forty-eight stanzas probably 
inspired by the play with the following title : ' Complaint and lamentation of 
Mistresse Arden of Feversham in Kent, who for the love of one Mosbie, hired certaine 
Ruffians and Villaines most cruelly to murder her Husband ; with the fatall end of 
her and her Associats. To the tune of Fortune my Foe.' 

Not till nearly two centuries after the first appearance of Arden of Feversham, 

1 ' 3 Aprilis (1592). Edward white, Entred for his copie vnder th(e h)andes of the 
Lord Bishop of London and the wardens The tragedio of Arden of Feuersham and 
Blackwall (i.e. Black Will), vjd A.' 


was the play coupled with the name of Shakespeare. This service and, right 
or wrong, it should be deemed a service we owe to a loyal but somewhat un 
critical citizen of Faversham, Edward Jacob, who in 1770 published a reprint 
of the first edition with the title : ' The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden, 
of Feversham in Kent. . . . With a Preface ; in which some Reasons are offered 
in favour of its being the earliest dramatic Work of Shakespeare now remaining . . .' 
The only reasons which Jacob actually offers are embraced in a scant half-page 
of parallel phrases between Arden and various genuine plays, and the similarity 
thus indicated is of so general a character as to prove nothing at all, beyond the 
obvious fact that Arden of Feversham and Shakespeare both belong to the Eliza 
bethan period. 1 

Around few plays has so large a mass of able criticism accumulated during 
the last century with so little definite result as around Arden of Feversham. 
Those readers who feel impelled to assign this fine tragedy to the pen of the 
youthful Shakespeare have on their side the great authority of Mr. Swinburne 
and the more hesitating testimony of Charles Knight, Delius, and the Dutch 
translator Kuitert. But the balance of critical opinion, it may safely be said, 
is turning slowly to the side of respectful incredulity, the side represented by 
Tyrrell, Ulrici, Ward, Professor Saintsbury, Symonds, and the editors of the 
three modern texts : Mr. Bullen, Warnke and Proescholdt, and the Reverend 
Ronald Bayne. a 

In considering the claim to authenticity of the work before us and others of 
its class, it is but fair to recognize that the reader's sympathies will ordinarily 
incline him strongly toward their acceptance. Besides the pleasure involved 
in the fancied recognition of a real personality, and that the greatest, behind the 
frigid mask of anonymity, allowance must be made, particularly on first perusal, 
for the intoxicating effect of the poetry. In the five doubtful plays in which the 
question of Shakespeare's authorship lends itself to rational discussion, there 
are gorgeous poetic passages that grip the imagination and overwhelm the reason. 
If, however (as is the case with regard to Arden of Feversham and its companions), 
our enthusiasm dies away when we consider the work in its dramatic entirety, 
or fit the words to the speaker, then surely we should pause long ere we venture 
on anything approaching a general attribution to Shakespeare. There is nothing 
fitful or transitory about the true Shakespearian quality ; his creations gain, 
instead of losing, by repeated and various examination, and the very sign-manual 
of his work is the subordination of the expression to the idea, the complete 
amalgamation of the parts in the whole. 

Arden of Feversham fails in all of these great tests, and a full century of the 

1 The following is the list of phrases and words for which Jac >b cites Shakespearian 
parallels : ' such a taunting letter,' ' painted cloth,' ' Mermaid's song,' ' Basiliskc,' 
' lean faced knave,' ' white livered,' ' buy his merriment as dear,' ' Precisian,' ' a Raven 
for a Dove,' ' wild cat,' ' swear me on the interrogatories,' ' horned beast,' ' Endimion,' 
' death makes amends for sin.' 

2 For more exact details as to works referred to here and elsewhere, readers are 
requested to consult the Bibliography. 


most searching inquiry has not been able to add one iota to the probability of 
its authenticity. In such cases, not to advance is to recede hopelessly ; were 
there enough of Shakespeare in Arden of Feversham to make up more than two 
or three purple patches at the most, its presence would long ago have made itself 
perceptible to the dullest vision, as it has done in the less intrinsically interesting 
play of Pericles. 

Mr. Fleay and Mr. Charles Crawford * have argued with a considerable amount 
of plausibility that Arden of Feversham was written by Thomas Kyd, who is 
known to be the author of a prose work on a very similar subject, the murder of 
John Brewen. It seems likely that there are indeed more parallels in feeling 
and expression between our play and the tragedies of Kyd than coincidences will 
account for, but they presume imitation, as Sarrazin 2 and Mr. Boas 3 have 
pointed out, rather than identity of authorship. Whether the unknown author 
of Arden of Feversham was debtor or creditor to Kyd, must for the present be 
left in uncertainty. 

There is but one character of the first magnitude in Arden of Feversham : 
Alice, Arden's wife and murderess. It is her demoniacal persistence in the 
execution of her horrible purpose, while her confederates fail or fall away, that 
gives the tragedy otherwise hopelessly disjointed and ineffective an ultimate 
unity and a really dramatic spirit. To her, too, belong much of the finest poetry 
and the two most dramatic speeches, 4 probably, in the play. Yet this gigantic 
figure is vulgarized and degraded by the two vices, which are most distinctively 
un-Shakespearian, and which, perhaps, it is hardest of all to pardon in a tragic 
heroine : purposeless revolting deceit and coarseness of feeling. Through all 
the dialogues between Alice and her husband, the reader is shocked by the moral 
obtuseness the love of clever lying and hypocrisy for its own sake, even where 
there is no dramatic need for it which is so entirely absent from Shakespeare's 
works and so unpleasantly conspicuous in many of his contemporaries'. So, too, 
Alice has little of the sustained delicacy of tragic feeling ; from the heights of 
lofty passion she descends into the deepest mire of criminal brutality with such 
words as those she speaks concerning the news of her husband's intended assas 
sination : 

' They be so good that I must laugh for ioy, 
Before I can begin to tell my tale.' 5 

For a truly rounded poet, sensible of the dignity and delicacy of tragedy, such 
lines would be as impossible as the undisguised doggerel of Black Will's leave- 
taking, which comes like a dash of cold water at the most breathless moment 

of the play : 

' We haue our gould ; mistris Ales, adew ; 
Mosbie, farewell, and Michaell, farewell too.' e 

II. The first and only early edition of Locrine dates from 1595. The title- 

1 Jahrbuch der deutsch. Shakespeare-Gesellschaft 39, p. 74 ff. 

Tk. Kyd u. sein Kreis, pp. 73-4. 3 Introduction to Kycl's Works, Ixxxix. 

* I. 186-205 ; in. v 100-134. I. 553-4. 6 v. i. 261-2. 


page reads : ' The Lamentable Tragedie of Locrine, the eldest sonne of King Brutus, 
discoursing the wanes of the Britaines, and Hunnes, with their discomfiture : The 
Britaines victorie with their Accidents, and the death of Albanact. No lesse pleasant 
then profitable. Newly set foorth, ouerseene and corrected, By W. S. London. 
Printed by Thomas Creede. 1595.' 

During the previous year, on July 20, 1594, the play had been entered on 
the Stationers' Register. 1 The first definite suggestion of Shakespearian author 
ship belongs to 1664, when Locrine was reprinted, for the first time since its 
original appearance, as the last of the seven new plays in the third folio of Shake 
speare. The fourth folio, printed in 1685, retained these supplementary dramas, 
Locrine among the number, but, of the seven, only Pericles has succeeded in 
establishing its claim to a place in modern editions. The mythical story on 
which the tragedy of Locrine is founded was current at the end of the sixteenth 
century in several forms. Herr Theodor Erbe, who has written a dissertation * 
on the subject, believes the dramatist to have followed Geoffrey of Monmouth's 
Chronicle in the main, with occasional borrowings from the versions of Caxton 
and of Holinshed. 

The inquiry into the authorship of Locrine begins naturally with the con 
sideration of the initials ' W. S.' on the title-page. And here our play connects 
itself at once with two other apocryphal works, Thomas Lord Cromwdl and The 
Puritan, the first editions of which, in 1602 and 1607 respectively, bear the 
identical words, ' by W. S.' Now it is pretty clear, from the evidence of style, 
spirit, and method alike, that these three dramas are not by the same author 
whether the William Smith suggested by Malone and Knight, or another and 
we do not know of any two or three competent dramatists of the time, leaving 
Shakespeare out of the question, each of whom had the initials ' W. S.' In 1611, 
moreover, the early play of The Troublesome Reign of King John was republished 
with the new claim : ' Written by W. Sh.', where it seems certain that a dishonest 
but cautious bookseller meant the public to construe ' W. Sh.' as ' William 
Shakespeare '. From all this we may conclude with tolerable assurance : First, 
that the initials ' W. S.' on the title-pages of Locrine, Cromwell, and The Puritan, 
may well stand for 'William Shakespeare'. 3 Second, that -such doubtful and 
suspicious evidence, though it apparently impressed the editors of the third folio, 
has almost no weight in deciding the question of Shakespeare's authorship of 
the plays under discussion. 

Tieck accepts Locrine as the earliest of Shakespeare's dramatic works, and 
Schlegel registers his belief that this tragedy and Titus Andronicus must stand 
or fall together on their claim to authenticity. Few succeeding critics have been 

1 ' xx die Julij. Thomas Creede, Entred for his Copie vnder th(e h)andes of the 
Wardens, The lamentable Tragedie of Locrine, the eldest sonne of Kinge Brutus, 
discoursinge the warres of the Brittans, &c. . . . vjd.' 

2 Die Locrinesage und die Quetten des Pseudo-Shakespeareschen Locrine. Halle a. S. 1 904. 

3 In the case of Locrine, however, the probability of a reference to Shakespeare 
is much less than in the case of the other two later plays, both by reason of the former's 
early date and because of the wording of the title-page. Cf. p, xx. 


willing to admit the possibility of Shakespeare's concern in the serious part of 
Locrine, which is indeed composed in the most exaggerated manner of the 
' university wits '. The comic scenes, however, which centre around the figure 
of Strumbo, are more successful and more in the early style of Shakespeare. 
Accordingly Hopkinson and Ulrici agree in pronouncing the Strumbo scenes 
Shakespearian, while Hopkinson gives the rest of the play to George Peele. 
The distinction in tone between the tragic and the comic elements appears, how 
ever, to rest, not on duality of authorship, but on the change from a very affected 
type of poetry and a mythical age to prose and what is, to all intents and pur 
poses, contemporary life. The dove-tailing of comedy and tragedy in such scenes 
as II, iii, iv, v, and iv, ii, is much too perfect to be explained on any hypothesis 
of double authorship ; and these four scenes, unquestionably the work of a single 
man, represent all the peculiarities of the play, which I feel a large degree of con 
fidence in attributing as a whole to the pen of Robert Greene. Before, however, 
entering specifically upon the vexed, and vexing, problem of the author's identity, 
it will be well to summarize the more obvious general features of the style. 

Locrine is possibly as characteristic an example as can be found of the type 
of drama developed by Greene andJPeele. The usual faults of their school are 
in this play exaggerated into vices, but the special lyric beauty, the imaginative 
fervour, and the delicate feeling for natural loveliness are equally prominent ; 
and both in its defects and its merits Locrine manifests a close consanguinity 
with the acknowledged plays of the ' university wits '. No reader can well fail to 
note the infinity of classical allusion, 1 the craze for mouth-filling but meaningless 
adjectival epithets, 2 the ranting bombast of the heroic figures, 3 the wearisome 
lyrical repetition of high-sounding words and phrases, 4 or the childish delight in 
such freaks of verbiage as ' agnominated ' and ' contentation '. No less striking, 
however, and no less indicative of its authorship are the poetic beauties of Locrine, 
detached, for the most part, and scattered like living springs in the dreary waste 
of rhetoric and affectation. There are few touches of purer pastoral feeling even 
in Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, or in The Arraignment of Paris, than Estrild's 
description of England : 

The aierie hills enclosd with shadie groues, 
The groues replenisht with sweet chirping birds, 
The birds resounding heauenly melodic, &c.' 5 

or the allusion to 

the fields of martiall Cambria, 
Close by the boystrous Iscans siluer streames, 
Where lightfoote faires skip from banke to banke. 

The enthusiasm for external life and action, bound up so closely with the reflective 
tendencies of the ' university wits ', is worthily expressed in Hubba's martial 
speech, 7 and in the splendid outburst of national feeling in iv. i. 28-37. 

1 e.g. i. i. 235-56. 2 Ibid, and in. i. 43-4. 

3 e.g. Humber's raving in in. 6. 4 e g. n. i. 102-5. 

6 n. i. 36 S. 8 in. i. 71-3. ' in. ii. 36 ff. 


Malone has put it on record as his ' creed ', that this play ' was written by 
Christopher Marlowe, whose style it appears to me to resemble more than that of 
any other known dramatick author of that age '. It is to be hoped that Mr. 
Malone's creed contained other saving articles ; else his hopes of salvation must 
be reckoned to be small, for with the exception of a few of the generic qualities 
just mentioned, which Marlowe also shared, there is not a jot of resemblance 
between the two styles. Indeed, it is perhaps a degree less possible to imagine 
Marlowe the author of the natter and feebler parts of Locrine than to believe 
them the output of the youthful Shakespeare himself. 

The various-minded Mr. Fleay has several times decided upon Peele 1 as the 
author of our play, and Hopkinson is of the same opinion as regards the tragic 
portion of the piece. Peele's authorship at least in the present state of our 
knowledge of that poet is no such self-evident impossibility as that of Shake 
speare or Marlowe, but it seems for many reasons improbable. The importance, 
character, and success of the comic element, 2 the excessive richness of mytho 
logical allusion far greater than in any play of Peele's and differently employed, 
the extreme rarity of run-on lines, and the general appearance of over-decoration 
all indicate that the author of Locrine is not Peele, and that he is Peele's more 
humorous, but weaker and more florid companion, R^obertjgreene. 

In the discussion of Greene's special claims to the play of Locrine is involved 
the consideration of another play closely and curiously linked to ours the 
first part, 3 that is, of The Tragical raigne of Sdimus, sometime Emperour of the 
Turkes, published anonymously in 1594 by the same Thomas Creede who brought 
out Locrine, Alphonsus, The Looking Glass, and James IV. Mr. P. A. Daniel 
first called attention to the connexion between Selimus and Locrine, a connexion 
so close as to prove indisputably either common authorship or conscious plagiar 
ism. The one comic passage in Selimus (11. 1873 ff.) is appropriated bodily from 
Locrine, iv. ii, and the two works have more identical or similar lines than could 
easily be enumerated ; sometimes considerable passages in one play are repeated 
in the other with the change of only a word or two. 4 For an imposing but by 
no means exhaustive array of parallel passages and a discussion of the relationship 
of the two dramas, the reader may be referred to Mr. Churton Collins's Intro 
duction to Greene's Works. 5 Mr. Charles Crawford has further shown that some 
of the more elaborate parallel passages in Locrine and Selimiis are imitations of lines 

1 In his History of the Stage he gives the play wholly to Peele ; in the Shakspere 
Manual (286) he assigns it to Charles Tilney, but believes that it was revised by Peele. 
There is nothing to support either theory. The two parallels from Peele's Fareicdl to 
N orris and Drake, 1589, noted by Dyce and alluded to impressively by Fleay are these : 
' To arms, to arms, to honourable arms,' and ' Take helm and targe ' ! Tilney's only 
claim to this or any other play rests upon an unauthenticated statement of Collier's 
that the former is mentioned as the author in a manuscript note written in a copy of 
the first quarto. Cf. Tilney in Diet. Nat. Biog. 

* Cf. p. xxiii. 3 No second part exists. 

4 e.g. Locrine n. v. 7-11, and Selimus, 2434-8 (Temple edition). 

* Oxford, 1905, pp. 64- 7. 


in Spenser's Ruins of Rome, which was probably known in MS. some years before 
its publication in 1591. 

Dr. Grosart has claimed Selimus for Greene, and on the whole with a greater 
show of probability than Mr. Collins is willing to allow. The fact that two 
selections l from this drama are quoted in England's Parnassus, 1600, over the 
name of R. Greene ought surely to be given very considerable weight when 
there is no contradictory external evidence and when the internal evidence 
must be agreed to point in the same direction. In the variety and amount of 
mythological reference, in general dramatic structure, in the number and kind 
of borrowings from Spenser, Marlowe, and Greene himself, there is little doubt 
that Selimus bears more likeness to Orlando Furioso and Alphonsus, King of 
Arragon than to any work of any other contemporary writer. As for Mr. Craw 
ford's fine-spun theory that Selimus, with its multiplex heroes, disjointed plot, 
frequent rhyme, and total absence of any strikingly original situation or poetry, 
is the production of Christopher Marlowe, it is assuredly not unjust to pronounce 
the suggestion worthy of keeping company in the limbo of rash and unbalanced 
criticism with Mr. Simpson's arguments in defence of Shakespeare's authorship 
of Fair Em, and with that egregious sentence of Schlegel which declares that 
Cromwell and Oldcastte deserve to be classed among his best and maturest works. 

Robert Greene's early dramatic method is marked by two features, which 
especially distinguish Locrine. The first is his constant borrowing of lines and. 
phrases from other poets and from himself ; the second is his tendency to beautify 
himself with borrowed feathers in greater matters to copy the plot and general 
structure of the most fashionable work of the hour. How continually in Locrine 
we find Greene's favourite epithets, phrases, and classical divinities forcing them 
selves uncalled for into the lines will not escape the notice of any one who will, 
for example, make a cursory catalogue, as I have done, of the mythological 
references in Locrine and compare it with Selimus, Alphonsus, Orlando, and the 
Looking Glass. 

Crawford has pointed out truly, I think that Locrine is less influenced by 
Marlowe than Selimus, and that the former play, unlike the latter, does not 
borrow from the Faery Queene. I differ from Mr. Daniel in regarding Locrine 
as the earlier play, and I believe it to have been written before Greene fell under 
the spell of Tamburlaine and while he was taking as his models for tragedy the 
species of drama represented by Gorboduc and The Misfortunes of Arthur. The 
choice of subject, the dumb shows, and the presence of lyrical speeches arranged 
in stanzas, 2 all mark Locrine as belonging to this class as surely as Alphonsus 
belongs to the class of Tamburlaine. The true, if not very powerful or original poetic 
gifts of Greene raise Locrine, however, as far above the barely respectable work of 
Norton and Sackville and the unmitigated rubbish of Hughes as all Greene's early 
plays are themselves transcended by the first achievement of the mighty Marlowe. 

Selimus I would take as marking the transition from Locrine to Alphonsus. 
1 503-9, 853-7. 2 The last feature is found also, more rarely, in Selimus. 


The trumpet blast of Tamburlaine reverberates through many of its speeches, 
but the cramping walls of Senecan dramaturgy are tottering rather than fallen. 
Lyrical stanzas and couplets occur here and there, and the action goes a-straying, 
as in Locrine, from one principal character to another. The sequence I have 
indicated is borne out by examination of the style, which is most artificial and 
hyper-classical in Locrine and grows very gradually but steadily less so in Selimus, 
Orlando Furioso, and Alphonsus, till the culmination is reached in the excellent 
simplicity of James IV. 

Locrine is a tragedy of the type of about 1585 ; that it could have been 
composed with all its dumb show machinery and so forth immediately before 
1595 is practically impossible. Yet the reference in the epilogue to the thirty-eighth 
year of Elizabeth's reign points clearly to 1595-6, and these lines must therefore 
be considerably later than the play as a whole. There is, indeed, no shadow 
of a reason why we should not accept as absolute truth the statement of the title- 
page that the drama was in 1595 ' newly set foorth, ouerseene, and corrected by 
W. S.' This W. S. may have been William Shakespeare or William Smith, 
or any one else possessed of these initials. His identity will probably never be 
known, and there is no question connected with Locrine which is less worth 
the settling, for the whole character of the play shows that, but for the addition 
of the twelve-line epilogue, 1 the activities of W. S. can hardly have extended 
beyond the crossing of an occasional ' t ' or the dotting of an ' i '. 

III. E^war^_III^ in some ways the most extraordinary of all the doubtful 
plays, is first heard of in the Stationers' Register for Dec. 1, 1595 2 ; three other 
entries are recorded between this date and Feb. 23, 1625. The earliest 
edition (Q. 1) has the following title-page : ' TheRaigne of King Edward the third : 
As it hath bin sundrie times plaied about the Citie of London. London, Printed 
for Cuthbert Burby. 1596.' The play must have been temporarily popular, 
for in 1599 there appeared a second quarto (Q. 2), printed likewise for Cuthbert 
Burby. From this time, however, Edward III seems to have been very largely 
neglected during more than a century and a half, till it was permanently rescued 
from oblivion by the scholarly editing of Capell in 1760. 

Scene 2 of the first act, and the second act of Edward III are based in part 
on Holinshed's Chronicle of Scotland and in part on a novel by Bandello, as 
translated in Painter's Palace of Pleasure. 3 The only source of the rest of the 
drama, according to Warnke and Proescholdt, is Holinshed's Chronicle of England ; 
but Knight may be correct in recognizing through the last three acts the influence 
of Froissart as well. The Villiers-Salisbury episode 4 is not found either in 
Holinshed or Froissart and is of uncertain derivation. The two editions of the 
play were anonymous ; however, in ' An exact and perfect Catalogue of all 

1 v. iv. 261-72. 

2 ' primo die decembris (1595). Cuthbert Burby Entred for his copie vmler the 
handes of the wardens A book Intitled Edward the Third and the Blacke Prince 
their warres with kinge John of Fraunce . . . vjd.' 

8 Novel XL\ 7 I. iv. i. 19-43 ; iii. 1-56 ; v. 5G-12G. 


Playes that are Printed ', prefixed to T. G(off)'s Cardess Shepherdess, 1654, 
the three plays of Edward II, Edward III, and Edward IV, are assigned to 
Shakespeare. Such an attribution is uncritical and untrustworthy on the face 
of it and appears to have been ignored in the case of Edward III, as, of course, 
it was in the case of the other two histories, till Capell's introduction to our 
play in his volume of ' Prolusions, or Select Pieces of Ancient Poetry,' l put the 
arguments for its authenticity boldly and persuasively before the popular mind. 

The first two acts of Edward III concern themselves mainly with a love 
intrigue. The beginning of the third act brings with it a complete change of 
plot and a considerable diminution in dramatic force. Since Capell, only Tieck, 
Collier, Teetgen, and Hopkinson untrustworthy critics all have assigned the 
entire play to Shakespeare ; but the number of those who regard the main 
portion of the first episode as Shakespearian, includes at least three high authori 
ties : Tennyson, Ward, and Fleay, while Halliwell-Phillips, Tyrrell, and Freiherr 
von Vincke recognize the authenticity of these scenes as at least possible. In 
the criticism of Edward III, however, as in that of Arden of Feversham, the 
trend of modern opinion inclines strongly to the negative side. The long list 
of those who deny the presence in the play of more than, conceivably, a few 
brief insertions by Shakespeare, includes : Mr. Swinburne, Dr. Furnivall, Saints- 
bury, Knight, Syrnonds, G. C. Moore Smith, Ulrici, Delius, Warnke and Proe- 
scholdt, H. von Friesen, and Liebau. 

It will doubtless be generally agreed by readers of the play that the last acts, 
dealing with the French wars, though full of fine dramatic poetry, are, as a whole, 
not by Shakespeare ; and there seems good reason to believe that the earlier 
' countess scenes ', so much more Shakespearian at first sight, are in reality 
by the same author as the rest of the drama. Whether the scenes in which the 
countess appears, and possibly other passages, were later revised by a second 
hand, Shakespeare's or another's, is a question that must be left open. 

The supporters of the authenticity of the love episode explain it usually as 
a relatively late addition, written by Shakespeare to eke out the insufficiently 
long military scenes ; at all events, it is certain that, if there is any difference 
in date of composition, the military scenes represent the original dramatic 
conception, to which the love episode is subsequent. But there are two passages 
in Act III, which belong apparently to the very first draft and which refer directly 
to the love episode. In the third scene 2 King John says : 
' For whats this Edward but a belly god, 
A tender and lasciuious wantonnes, 
That thother date was almost dead for loue ? 

And in Scene 5, 3 King Edward likewise reminds the audience of the events of 
the first two acts : 

' Now, lohn of Fraunce, I hope, 
Thou knowest King Edward for no wantonesse 
No loue sicke cockney.' 
1 1760. 11. 155-7. 3 11. 100-2. 


The author of Act III, must, therefore, have had the contents of Acts I and II 
distinctly before his mind. 

A more definite indication of singleness of authorship is the fact that, wherever 
in the last three acts the necessity of portraying actual events disappears, there 
we find, as in IV. iii, a return to the tone and style of the earlier unhistoric scenes. 
Indeed, it is not too much to assert that the true lover and student of this play 
will be likely to turn with most pleasure not to the brilliant intrigue scenes of 
the first acts, which have, I think, a rather cloying sweetness, but to the freshness 
and perfect sincerity of some of the later passages, uneven and sometimes uncouth 
though they are. There is a verve and exhilaration about the scene in which 
the Black Prince receives his arms 1 and that 2 in which he returns to his father 
triumphant from the shadow of death, or in the brief eighth scene of Act IV, 
where Audley passes wounded and dying across the stage, which are nowhere 
to be found in the countess episode. The latter is certainly a much finer entity 
than any other division of the play, but there is probably not a passage in it 
which does more credit to the poetic ability of the author than this single line of 
Audley's : 3 

' Good friends, conuey me to the princely Edward, 

That in the crimson brauerie of my bloud 

I may become him with saluting him.' 

or the four spoken by the second citizen of Calais : * 

' The Sun, dread Lord, that in the western fall 
Beholds vs now low brought through miserie, 
Did in the Orient purple of the morne 
Salute our comming forth, when we were knowne.' 

Mr. Symonds has remarked that, in case Edward III was written as a whole 
by some imitator of Shakespeare's Marlowesque manner, the unknown author 
would naturally have succeeded better in his treatment of the love story which 
Bandello had shaped ready to his hand, than when he came in the later acts to 
deal with the refractory material of actual history. The nature of the play, 
from beginning to end, lends special weight to this criticism ; throughout we 
recognize the writer's love of noble situations and his sympathy with high- 
minded characters, but the continual inferiority of his hand to his heart is equally 
obvious. The inability to grasp strongly the realities of life produces in the 
historical scenes a woodenness and restraint, which mark these portions of the 
play as distinctly un-Shakespearian, despite several bursts of magnificent poetry. 
In the greater part of the first two acts, however, and occasionally elsewhere, 
the demands of realistic sanity are less obvious, and the author has been able 
to rise to a very great height by his fine poetic sense and delicacy of feeling. 

Yet the central fault is present here as elsewhere. Notwithstanding their figura 
tive richness of style, their melody and forcefulness of expression, and their 
real likeness in many outward features to Shakespeare, the scenes between the 
countess and the king will hardly bear frequent re-reading. Tried by the test 
1 ill. iii. * in. v. 3 iv. viii. 7. 4 v. '27-30. 


of what they say, not how they say it, these passages sound hollow and insincere ; 
the sophistry of nearly all the arguments becomes more objectionable as one knows 
the play better, as one comes to feel once the bewildering effect of the declama 
tion has abated how much the characters guide their actions by the dictates of 
complex academic reasoning and how little by the inner voice of nature. 

Yet after declaring Shakespeare utterly incapable, at the mature, period 
presumed by the artistic finish of Edward HI, of the quibbling mawkishness of 
Warwick and the Countess, the conscientious critic will pause long before he 
undertakes to name the actual author one of the truest poets and most ardent 
patriots, certainly, of his generation. 

I should like to see this fine though very imperfect play recognized as the 
crown and conclusion of the work of George Peele, a poet who has perhaps 
received scant justice in recent times, but who in the fire and melody of his 
poetry rises high above all but the two greatest of his contemporaries. David 
and Bethsabe is only just inferior in its best parts to Edward III and the two 
works bear a very marked resemblance in all essential particulars. In both there 
is the basal lack of unity arising from the juxtaposition of a love episode conceived 
in a vein of rare lyrical beauty and a military-political plot for which the author's 
hand shows itself less well adapted. Both are characterized by nearly total 
abstinence from the mythological jargon of Greene, by the peculiar liquid beauty 
of Peele's best poetry, and by a verse movement which is almost identical. 1 

As in David and Bethsabe and The Battle of Alcazar, so in Edward III, there 
is not a vestige of comedy a fact which would surprise us in the work of almost 
any writer of the time, except two. For it is a curious truth that Peele, with 
his immense reputation as a jester and social buffoon, has left us less comedy, 
and that little of a feebler sort, than any of his contemporaries save Christopher 
Marlowe. For the type of ardent but rather undiscriminating patriotism which 
pervades Edward III any number of parallels will be found in The Arraignment 
of Paris, Edward I, and The Battle of Alcazar. 

It must be conceded that Edward 111 is a finer production than any with which 
Peele is at present accredited. Yet I believe that the majority of persons who 
will compare the first act of David and Bethsabe with the first two acts of 
Edward III, will recognize not only that the general characteristics merits and 
defects are the same, but furthermore that there is nothing in the latter play 
which was not potentially within the grasp of the poet who could write the former. 
A few years more of practice, a free hand, 8 and the change from the dry threshed 
husks of Biblical narrative to the full and stimulating garners of native history 
might have performed a far greater transfiguration. 

IV. Mucedorus appears first in an edition of 1598, with the title-page : 

The proportion of run-on lines in David and Bethsabe is about one in five ; in 
Edward III it is slightly less than one in six. There is absolutely no appreciable 
difference in this regard though Mr. Fleay rather insinuates that there is between 
the three King-Countess scenes and the rest of Edward III. 
a At least in the non-historical scenes. 


' A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus the kings sonne of Valentia and Amadine 
the kings daughter of Arragon, with the merie conceites of Mouse. Newly set foorth 
as it hath bin sundrie times plaide in the honorable Cittie of London. Very delectable 
and full of mirth. London. Printed for William Jones, dwelling at Holborne 
conduit, at the signe of the Gunne. 1598.' There is no mention of the play in the 
extant Stationers' Registers till September 17, 1618. 1 

Of all pre -Restoration plays Mucedorus passed through the greatest number 
of early editions. Seventeen have been enumerated by Mr. W. W. Greg, 2 the 
dates in order of publication being as follows : 1598 (Q. 1), 1606 (Q. 2), 1610 (Q. 3), 
1611 (Q. 4), 1613 (Q. 5), 1615 (Q. 6), 1618 (Q. 7), 1619 (Q. 8), 1621 (Q. 9), 1626 
(Q. 10), 1631 (Q. 11), 1634 (Q. 12), 1639 (Q. 13), 1663 (Q. 14), 1668 (Q. 15), an 
undated edition (Q. 16), and an edition of which the only extant copy 3 lacks the 
title-page (Q. 17). Collier has mentioned yet another quarto, dated 1609, upon 
which he professed to base his text of the play, but it is highly probable that 
this edition, known to nobody but Collier, is entirely imaginary. Nine of the 
existing quartos are to be found in the British Museum ; 4 to these the Bodleian, 5 
Trinity College, Cambridge, 6 and the Dyce Collection 7 add two others each. 
Q. 7 and Q. 9, neither of which is important, are the only ones not easily accessible, 
the former being in Mr. Huth's private library, the latter in the Municipal Library 
of Dantzig. Collation of all the British Museum quartos and careful consideration 
of the rest show that it is possible to divide the early texts of Mucedorus into 
the following three groups : 

Group A, including only Q. 1 and Q. 2, is characterized by the absence of 
certain scenes and passages found in all the others. 

Group B embraces Q. 3-6 ; all the editions of this group as well as Q. 1 and Q. 2 
were published by William Jones. 

Group C includes Q. 7-17 ; the first seven of these editions (Q. 7-13) were 
published by John Wright, Q. 14-16, and probably Q. 17, by Francis Coles. In 
this group the text has been superficially edited, the spelling modernized to some 
extent, and grammatical irregularities normalized. The divergences within 
the various groups appear quite unintentional and are confined as a rule to mere 
misprints and variant spellings. 

The title-page of Q. 3 runs : 'A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus . . . Amplified 
with new additions, as it was acted before the king's Maiestie at White-hall on Shroue- 

1 This notice is of interest as explaining the change of publisher after the sixth 
edition (1615). It runs as follows: ' 17 Septembris 1618. John Wright Assigned 
ouer vnto him by Mistris Sara Jones widowe late wife of william Jones Deceased and 
by Direction from Master warden Adaines by a note vnder his hand theis two bookes 
following xijd. 

viz 1 . 

The schoole of good manners 

The Comedy Called Mucedorus.' 

2 Jahrbuch XL., 95 ff. 

3 In Library of Trin. Coll., Camb. Q. q. 1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 11, 12, 15, 16. 
5 Q. 4, Q. 14. 6 Q. 13, Q. 17. 7 Q. 2, Q. 10. 


Sunday night. By his Highnes Seruants usually playing at the Globe. Very 
delectable, and full of conceited Mirth. . .' The title-pages of the subsequent quartos 
are as nearly as possible the same. Most of the critical interest attaching to 
Mucedorus concerns the ' new additions ' found in the texts of groups B and C 
and the definite statement in these editions that the play was acted by the King's 
men ' usually playing at the Globe '. The additions are certainly not by the 
original author and are superior to the rest of the comedy ; they include the 
Prologue, Scenes 1 and 2 of the first Act, Scene 1 of the fourth Act, a revision and 
amplification of Act V, Scene 2, from line 91, and of the Epilogue from line 14. 

The source of the comedy has not been discovered ; Schlegel, who had not 
read the play, conjectured wrongly that it was founded on the story of Valentine 
and Orson, 1 the subject of a Spanish drama by Lope de Vega. Among the 
Roxburghe Ballads 2 there is a poem, which, though hardly older in its present 
form than the seventeenth century, differs from our play in several particulars and 
may be based in part on an earlier version of the story. The heading of the ballad 
reads : ' The wandring Prince and Princess or Musidorus and Amadine, both of 
Royal Progeny, who being unfortunately seperated by means of their parents 
disagreeing ; as fortunately met in a Desert, while both resolved never to cease 
from searching, till thsy had found out each other. 

In shady Deserts there was none 

but Beasts to hear these Lovers moan, 

There these faithful Lovers met, 
Their marriage day was quickly set. 

Tune, Young Phaon? 

Besides the conclusive testimony of the large number of early editions and 
the circulation of a ballad on the subject, we have several other evidences of 
the special popularity of Mucedorus with vulgar audiences in the seventeenth 
century. The Citizen's Wife in The Knight of the Burning Pestle says 3 of an 
apprentice : ' Nay, gentlemen, he hath played before, my husband says, 
Mucedorus, before the wardens of our company.' To the same effect is the follow 
ing interesting record of the comedy's vogue in the provinces during the Common 
wealth : ' The comedy of Mucedorus was revived by some strollers in 1652, and 
privately exhibited in the villages of Moore, Standlake, Southleigh and Cumner 
in Oxfordshire, till in the following February, they ventured to represent it 
publicly at Witney. The use of the Town-hall being denied them, they were 
obliged to perform it at the White-hart inn, where a numerous audience assembled 
on the evening of the 3d.' * On this occasion several persons were killed by 
the giving way of the floor, and the town lecturer Rowe profited by the catastrophe 
to deliver a series of sermons against theatrical performances. 

The only external evidence which in any degree sanctions the attribution 
of Mucedorus to Shakespeare consists in the statement on the title-pages of 

1 A play with this title, by Hathway and Munday, is mentioned by Henslowe 
under date of July 19, 1597. 2 Vol. ii, pp. 490-1. 3 Induction. 

4 Quoted from a clipping pasted in the British Museum copy of Q. 8. 


1610 and after, that the play belonged to the repertoire of the Globe Company, 
and the fact of its inclusion, with Fair Em and The Merry Devil of Edmonton, in 
the famous 'Shakespeare' volume prepared for Charles the Second's library. Tieck 
alone has ascribed the whole of Mucedorus to Shakespeare, and modern criticism 
will no longer tolerate so absurd an attribution. There can be little doubt that 
the comedy in its original form was the work of some member of the school of 
'university wits'. Malone attempted, on the most dubious of external testimony, 
to establish Greene's authorship, and Mr. Hopkinson holds the same view, which, 
however, has recently been discredited by Mr. Churton Collins ; x Mr. Fleay 
prefers to give to Lodge such credit as the composition of these crude early 
scenes carries with it, while H. von Friesen supposes Peele to have written them. 
The spirit of the school is everywhere visible, especially so, perhaps, in such 
a pastoral bit as iv. 3, but there is little to identify the individual poet. If he be 
one of the three or four famous members of the group, then much of the play 
must represent hasty or slevealy work, but it is more likely that these old scenes 
were written by an obscure and only moderately gifted disciple. 

The additional scenes, written apparently between the publication of the 
second edition in 1606 and the third in 1610, are of greater poetic merit than the 
rest of the comedy and somewhat more in Shakespeare's manner. It is agreed 
that they fall far short of what one would expect from Shakespeare at this 
period ; yet Collier, Hopkinson, and Simpson accept them, with reservations, 
as hurried and careless patch-work, done by the master in his capacity of theatre 
manager. Against this, and in support of the negative position occupied by 
Fleay, Ward, Tyrrell, Knight, Warnke and Proescholdt, and Soffe, it may be 
mentioned : 

First. That, though the single authorship of the additions is pretty evident, 
only one of the new scenes (iv. 1) shows anything which can possibly be regarded 
as the imperfect work of genius, while the others display merely workmanlike 

Second. That all the new scenes indicate the very reverse of haste and-are- 
lessnesss their great fault is that they impress the reader as laboured. 

Third. That the style, even in the finest scene of all, is sometimes so strained 
and artificial as not conceivably to be Shakespeare's in 1606-10. Take, for 
instance, this couplet in iv. i. 2 : 

' No, no ; till Mucedorus I shall see againe, 
All ioy is comfortlesse, all pleasure paine.' 

Mr. Fleay suggests Wilkins as the author of the additions, but the matter 
is not likely soon to be settled. So much seems certain : that the additions to 
Mucedorus were written by a person of true, but neither great nor mature poetic 
gifts who stood somewhat under the influence of Shakespeare. 

V. Two quarto editions of the First ParJjaLSirJohn Oldcastle were published 
in 1600. One, which we may call Q. 1, bears the title: 'The first part Of the true 
1 Introduction to Greene's Works, pp. 60-1. a 11. 15-16. 


and honorable historic, of the life of Sir John Old-castle, the good Lord Cobham. 
As it hath been lately acted by the right honorable the Earle of Notingham Lord 
high Admirall of England his seruante. London. Printed by V. S. for Thomas 
Pauier, and are to be solde at his shop at the signe of the Catte and Parrots neere the 
Exchange. 1600.' The other quarto (Q. 2) inserts the words ' Written by William 
Shakespeare ' and replaces the full particulars as to the publisher's name and 
address by the non-committal sentence : ' London printed for T. P. 1600.' 
This dishonest and defective text has been followed by the editors of the third 
and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2) and by all modern publishers. 1 There 
can be no doubt, though, that the anonymous quarto (Q. 1) is infinitely superior ; 
it contains many fine passages which Q. 2 has either omitted entirely or hopelessly 
corrupted. The play was registered by Pavier, August 11, 1600. 2 

Sir John Oldcastle has many pleasant and a few really good scenes, but there 
is perhaps no member of the pseudo-Shakespearian group more totally destitute 
of a single passage which might imaginably have been written by Shakespeare. 
Only Tieck and Schlegel have championed its genuineness ; and the question 
of authorship has now been settled with a most agreeable definiteness by the 
unearthing of the following entries in Henslowe's Diary : 3 ' This 16 of October 
(15)99. Receved by me, Thomas Downton, of phillip Henslow, to pay Mr. Mon 
day, Mr. Drayton,^nd Mr. Wilsonand Hathwqy, for the first pte of the lyfe of 
Sr. Jhon Ouldcasstell and in earnest of the second pte., for the use of the com- 
payny, ten pound, I say receved . . . 10 1 '.' 

' Receved of Mr. Hinchloe, for Mr. Mundaye and the Reste of the poets, at 
the playnge of Sr. John Oldcastell, the ferste tyme. As a gefte . . . x s .' 

From other entries it appears that the Second Part of Sir John Oldcastle, now 
lost, was written by Dray ton alone. 

The first part of Oldcastle was beyond question composed for the Lord Admiral's 
Company as a reply to the successful Falstaff plays 4 which the Lord Chamberlain's 
Servants had been acting. The character of Falstaff, originally called Oldcastle, 
is certainly aimed at in the slur of the prologue : 5 

' It is no pamperd glutton we present, 

Nor aged Councellor to youthfull sinne.' 

The gambling scene between the disguised king and Sir John of Wrotham suggests 
Henry V, iv, i ; while the reference to the thieving exploits of the king's youth 

1 It may well be that Q. 2 is the earlier of the two quartos and that it was hastily 
printed from a shorthand version several months before Pavier secured the accurate 
version from which he published Q. 1. It is noteworthy that both editions have the 
curious transposition of Scenes 2-8 of the last act. 

2 ' 1 1 Augusti. Thomas pavier Entred for his copies vnder the handes of master 
Vicars and the wardens. These iij copies, viz. 

The first parte of the history of the life of Sir John Oldcastell lord Cobham. 
Item the second and last parte of the history of Sir John Oldcastell lord Cobham 

with his martyrdom. 
Item ye history of the life and Deathe of Captaine Thomas Stucley . . .' 

3 Edition of 1845, p. 158. 

4 The two parts of Henry IV, 1597-8 ; Henry V, 1599. 6 11. 6, 7. 


is a clear allusion to the first part of Henry IV, and the two mentions l of Falstaff 
by name are reminiscences of the same play : 

' King. . . . Where the diuel are all my old theeues, that were wont to keepe 
this walke ? Falstaffe, the villaine, is so fat, he cannot get on 's horse, but 
me thinkes Poines and Peto should be stirring here abouts ; ' 

' sir lohn. . . . Because he (i.e. the King) once robde me before I fell to the 
trade my selfe ; when that foule villainous guts, that led him to all that 
rogery, was in's company there, that Falstaffe.' 

VI. Thoma^LordCromwell was entered on the Stationers' Register by 
William Cotton, Aug. 11, 1602. 2 In the same year appeared the first edition 
(Q. 1) with the title : ' The True Chronicle Historie of the wliole life and death of 
Thomas Lord Cromwell. As it hath beene sundrie times publikely Acted by the 
Right Honorable the Lord Chamberlaine his Seruants. Written by W. S. Imprinted 
at London for William tones, and are to be solde at his house neere Holburne con- 
duict, at the signe of the Gunne. 1602.' 

A second quarto (Q. 2) was printed by Thomas Snodham in 1613. The only 
important variation from Q. 1 on the title-page of this edition consists in the 
necessary change of the name of Shakespeare's company : ' As it hath beene 
sundry times publikely Acted by the King's Maiesties Seruants. Written by 
W. S.' The play was included in the third and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, 
F. 2), and was reprinted by Rowe, Pope, and again separately by R. Walker in 
1734, as ' A Tragedy. By Shakespear.' Q. 2, the later quarto, was, as usual, 
followed by the editors of the folios, as well as by Malone, who was not acquainted 
with Q. 1, and has thus served as basis for all modern texts. Q. 1 is certainly 
to be preferred ; the variations of Q. 2 are for the most part due merely to the 
conventionalizing of syntax and spelling, but there are several cases where the 
original reading has been falsified by the insertion or substitution of new words. 
The later editions have no critical importance. 

Thomas Lord Cromwell exceeds Sir John Oldcastle in all the particular defects 
of that defective though interesting play, and it has fewer merits. The scenes 
of Cromwell are disconnected and undramatic to such a degree that the real plot 
cannot be said to begin before the close of the third act, and there is hardly a passage 
in the work, with the exception of in. iii, which excites special attention. Tieck 
and Schlegel, to their lasting discredit, have defended the genuineness of this 
play, and Ulrici also is inclined, against his better judgement, to accept it as 
a very early work of Shakespeare, anterior to 1592. Hopkinson assigns the main 
part of the performance to Greene, 3 but he alone of English critics would like 

1 m. iv. 61-5, 102-5. 

2 ' 11 August] (1602). William Cotton Entred for his Copie vnder th(e h)andes 
of master Jackson and master waterson warden A booke called " the lyfe and Deathe 
of the Lord Cromwell " as yt was lately Acted by the Lord Chamberleyn his ser- 
vantes, vjd.' 

3 It is possibly worth remarking though not as an indication of Greene's author 
ship, than which few things are more unlikely that the episcde of Seely and his cow 


to establish Shakespeare's connexion as reviser of the greater part of the comic 
scenes and of in. ii and iii ; IV. i and v ; and v. 

Other writers have suggested the authorship of Wentworth Smith, William 
Sly, Heywood, and Drayton respectively, but there is strong reason against 
ascribing the play to any of these, while it appears as absolutely certain as so 
undemonstrable a matter well can be, that William Shakespeare was never 
concerned with a single line of it. On this point it is pleasant to find the first 
and the last of the critics of Cromwell in complete and emphatic agreement. 
Malone says : * 'To vindicate Shakespeare from having written a single line of 
this piece would be a waste of time. The poverty of language, the barrenness 
of incident and the inartificial conduct of every part of the performance, place 
it rather perhaps below the compositions of even the second-rate dramatick 
authors of the age in which it was produced.' And Mr. Swinburne writes in the 
same strain, but with even greater and rather excessive disapproval : ' Thomas 
Lord Cromwell is a piece of such utterly shapeless, spiritless, bodiless, soulless, 
senseless, helpless, worthless rubbish, that there is no known writer of Shake 
speare's age to whom it could be ascribed without the infliction of an unwar 
rantable insult on that writer's memory.' 2 

The source of the play is ' The History concerning the Life, Acts, and Death 
of the famous and worthy Councillor, Lord Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex ' 
in Fox's Book of Martyrs. 3 The story of Frescobald, which Fox 4 has incorporated, 
comes, as Malone has remarked, from one of Bandello's novels (Part II, No. 27). 

VII. The London Prodigal appears not to have been entered on the Stationers' 
Books. 5 The only early quarto (Q. 1) was published in 1605 with the title : ' The 
London Prodigall. As it was plaide by the Kings Maiesties servants. By William 
Shakespeare, London. Printed by T. C. for NatJianiel Butter, and are to be sold 
neere S. Austins gate, at the signe of the pyde Bull. 1605.' 

It was next published in the third and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2), 
in supplements to Rowe's and to Pope's Shakespeare, and in careless separate 
reprints by Walker and Tonson. 6 

All these editions ascribe the comedy unreservedly to Shakespeare, and their 

may have been inspired by the speeches of Alcon in A Looking Glasse for London and 
England (i. iii, u. ii). 

1 About 1780. 2 A Study of Shakespeare, 3rd ed., p. 232. 

3 Cf. Streit's dissertation on the subject. 4 Ed. 1684, II. 429-30. 

5 I have found the following entry, which is of slight interest, though it is not very 
probable that the work mentioned had much to do with our play : ' 27 Novembris 
(1598). Nicholas linge Entred for his copie vnder the handes of master Sonibanke 
and the wardens A booke called The Portraiture of the prodigall sonne. vjd.' 

* In 1734 both these publishers brought out worthless editions of Locrine, Oldcaslle, 
The London Prodigal, and The Puritan, while Walker printed Cromwell in the same 
year, and Tonson A Yorkshire Tragedy in 1735, in which last year appeared also 
another reprint of Oldcastle, this time with no publisher's name. All these editions 
claim Shakespeare unreservedly as the author, and they are all quite worthless save 
as curiosities. Naturally the rival publishers were foes, and Tonson has denounced 
Walker in unmeasured terms as a pirate. 


unanimous testimony gains weight from the facts that The London Prodigal was 
performed by Shakespeare's Company, and that the quarto was printed during 
the poet's lifetime for Butter, the publisher of King Lear. Yet in spite of this 
evidence and the acceptance of its genuineness by Tieck, Schlegel, and Hopkin- 
son, any theory which supports the play's authenticity may safely be branded 
as utterly untenable. 

The London Prodigal deals entirely with humours and manners. Like The 
Puritan, which it resembles in many points, 1 it depends for its value and effect 
on the bare plot and the really admirable delineation of the externalities of 
contemporary life. Shakespeare's catholicity and psychological insight are 
conspicuously absent, and every principle of his dramatic morality is outraged 
in the treatment of the prodigal's career. The only supposition on which the 
attribution can at all be justified is that put forward by Mr. Fleay ; namely, that 
Shakespeare ' plotted ' the comedy roughly and then left his vague design to be 
very imperfectly executed by another. 

Mr. Fleay feels certain that The London Prodigal and Thomas Lord Cromwell 
are by the same author, and Ulrici ascribes our play to one of the writers of 
Sir John Oldcastle. There seems no reason for either belief. Considered with 
regard to general spirit, The London Prodigal, so full of the intimate details of 
domestic life, shows as much affinity perhaps to the early works of Dekker or to 
those of Marston as to the writings of any other well-known dramatist of the 
period ; but in Dekker's case such a theory of authorship would become plausible 
only if he could be shown to have written for the King's Players just before 
1605. 2 We know that Marston's Malcontent, 1607, was acted by the King's 
Majesty's Servants. 

VIII. The Puritan was entered at Stationers' Hall on Aug. 6, 1607, by 
G. Eld, 3 and published in quarto (Q.) immediately after. The title-page runs : 
' The Puritaine or the Widdow of Watling-streete. . Acted by the Children of Paules. 
Written by W. 8. Imprinted at London by O. Eld. 1607.' The next editions 
were those of the third and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2), of Howe and 
Pope, and the separate reprints of Walker and Tonson in 1734. 4 

The first definite recognition of this comedy as the work of Shakespeare 
appears in a bookseller's catalogue of plays 5 published in 1656. The authority 
of the folios doubtless established the belief in its authenticity for a time, and we 
find Gildon in 1702 6 alluding to it as one of the genuine plays. Since the time 

1 There is good reason for believing that The London Prodigal and The Puritan 
are by the same author, or that the same author had a hand in both. See the dis 
cussion of the authorship of The Puritan, p. xxxi. f. It may be mentioned, though not as 
a fact of much significance in itself, that there is a close resemblance betwee'n Luce's 
Dutch-English in our play and that of Franchesina in Marston's Dutch Courtesan. 

2 He appears to have written ordinarily for Henslowe's Company. 

3 ' 6 Augusti (1607). George Elde Entred for his copie vnder th<e h)andes of Sir 
George Bucke knight and the wardens a book called the comedie of " the Puritan 
Widowe ". vjd.' 4 See p. xxix, note 6. 5 Appended to an edition of The Old Lair. 

6 Also listed as one of the genuine plays in Gildon's revision of Langbain's Lii\s 


of Malone, however, no English critic seems to have doubted its spuriousness, 
and of the Germans, perhaps, only Tieck and Schlegel have attempted to enroll 
it among the works of Shakespeare. 

Crude and farcical as The Puritan is, it contains some good bourgeois scenes, 
of a thoroughly un-Shakespearian kind, and has, moreover, the not very usual 
merit of making the reader laugh with genuine amusement. The spirit of the 
piece is light-hearted and pleasing, but it has small claim to consideration as 
serious art. 

On the strength of the initials ' W. S.', and for no other reason, The Puritan 
has been attributed to each of the two forgotten dramatists, William and Went- 
worth Smith. There is slightly better cause possibly, from internal evidence, 1 
to accept the theory of Middleton's authorship, favoured by Fleay, Bullen, 
Hopkinson, and Ward ; but this attribution, besides being entirely problematical, 
is not in accord with the certainty, first pointed out by Dr. Farmer, that the 
second scene of Act I, with its college cant and reminiscence, is the work of an 
Oxford man. 8 

So far, it must be generally allowed, rather less than no progress at all has 
been made towards the solution of the mystery of this play's authorship ; nor 
can the present editor presume to offer more than a very diffident and tentative 
answer to the question. Yet there are, I think, several facts, hitherto overlooked, 
which appear incontrovertible, and which, if they do not justify a final decision, 
should at least offer to future inquiry that definite terminus a quo so conspicuously 
lacking in the contradictory and unsupported theories previously advanced. 

The most obvious of these facts is the extremely close affinity between The 
Puritan and the comedy of Eastward Hoe, published just two years earlier 
(1605) and authoritatively assigned to Chapman, Jonson, and Marston. It will 
be impossible, perhaps, for any one to read the two plays consecutively without 
being struck by their likeness in all the more significant and less easily imitated 
characteristics. The outward details of plot are for the most part different, but 
in general tone and dramatic method, as well as in a number of mannerisms and 
personal touches, there is a similarity which approaches near to absolute identity, 
and which makes it very hard to resist the conviction that the pen of one of the 
authors of Eastward Hoe has been employed in the other play. 

It is not unlikely that in the later drama, as in the earlier, we have to do with 
a case of collaboration. The connexion of The Puritan with Bartholomew Fair 
would be explained if we could prove Ben Jonson to have been concerned in the 
former, but I feel much more sure of the authorship of John Marston, who, like 

and Characters of the English Dramatick Poets, 1698, p. 128, where he adds : ' This was 
accounted a very diverting Play.' 

1 Reference to Mr. Bullen's valuable Index at the end of his edition of Middleton 
will show that a great number of passages in The Puritan and The London Prodigal 
may be illustrated by similar allusions in Middleton's works, but the parallels are by 
no means such as to suggest, even remotely and afar off, the idea of common authorship. 

2 Note, for example, the references to ' quadrangles ', 'batteling,' and to the Welsh 
at Jesus College. 


the creator of Pye-board, was a member of Oxford University, and whose special 
traits as known from his independent works and partly distinguishable in the 
tangled mesh of Eastward Hoe are conspicuous in The Puritan. 

The outlook upon London life in the last two dramas is practically identical. 
Both are realistic in the coarsest sense, and the types are the same, representing 
and satirizing, in the one play as in the other, the two hostile classes of court and 
city. Touchstone and Sir Godfrey, Quicksilver and Master Edmund, have little 
to distinguish them. Sir Petronel is but a composite of Pye-board and Penny- 
dub, with the villainy of the first and the inanity of the second. But the greatest 
resemblance appears in the female characters : Gertrude and Moll, one hopes 
and believes, can have but one creator. Both are revolting to the finger-tips, 
twin embodiments of middle-class vulgarity without a shade of difference. With 
their craving for coaches and ladyship, their loud expressed dread of ' leading 
apes in hell ', and their continued mouthing of obscenities, they illustrate what, 
in one of the few pregnant phrases to be found in German dissertational literature, 
has been called l the schmutzige Spur which Marston's hand leaves ever behind it. \ 

How often minor allusions in The Puritan answer to similar references in 
Eastward Hoe may be seen to a small extent from the notes to the former play. 
Both presume an encyclopaedic knowledge on the author's part of the Counter 
prison, with its manners and customs, its denizens and apartments. In both 
also we find sarcastic references to King James's new-made knights, though the 
allusions in The Puritan 2 are somewhat milder than the bold satire of Eastward 
Hoe, 3 which assisted in drawing down upon Marston's innocent associates the 
wrath of the sovereign. The two plays likewise were acted by what was practi 
cally the same company, though in the three years that separated them, its name 
and personnel had suffered alteration.* 

In both the dramas before us there are frequent parodies and imitations of 
Shakespeare humorous often, but not unkindly. In the one we have the 
changes rung on Pistol's rants about the welkin, and see ' Hamlet, a footeman ', 
' entering in haste ' for the purpose of being asked, ' Hamlet, are you madde ? ' 
to the delectation probably of an audience already beginning to addle its brains 
and lose its temper over this infinitely discussed question. In the other play 
that which immediately concerns us Puttock and Ravenshaw serve Pye-board 
as Falstaff has been served by their colleagues Fang and Snare ; while Corporal 
Oath is made to sit, instead of Banquo's spectre, as ' the ghost ith white sheete 
at vpper end a'th Table ', and the mighty tragedy of the fifth act of Othello is 
burlesqued by the imitation of Pye-board, Skirmish, and Oath. 

A further characteristic of The Puritan, which can hardly fail to impress the 

1 Emil Koeppel : Quetten Stvdien zu den Dramen B. Jonsotis, J. Marston's ti. 
Beaumont's u. Fletcher's. Erlangen-Leipzig, 1895. 

2 i. i. 85 ff ; iv. i. 4. 3 Belles Lettres ed., iv. i. 213-18. 

* The Children of her Maiesties Reuels, mentioned on the title-page of Eastward Hoe, 
were replaced in 1606 by The Children of Paides, who acted The Puritan. Cf. Fleay : 
History of the Stage, pp. 184, 185. 


careful reader is the especial bitterness of the author against his Puttocks and 
Ravenshaws. It is obvious that he looks upon himself as belonging to the poor 
scholar class, and that, if he does not regard Pye- board as a friend and a brother, 
he at least resents in a very personal way the insults and indignities to which the 
latter is subjected by the minions of the law. 1 It seems certain that there must 
have gone into the vivid portraiture of the poltroonery, brutality, and rapacity 
of Yeoman Dogson and his confederates, and into the realistic delineation of 
conditions in the Counter, a very considerable amount of unpleasant personal 

The general similarity of The Puritan to Bartholomew Fair is, of course, 
obvious, and has been alluded to repeatedly. For the most part the likeness 
is one of subject rather than treatment, and has no great significance, but in 
the case of a few details it merits more serious consideration. I cannot but 
think that the rough sketch of Master Ful-bellie the Minister who is an excellent 
feeder and will be horribly drunk upon occasion, though he rails against players 
mightily because they once brought him drunk upon the stage stood clear 
before the memory of Ben Jonson, when he came in 1614 to immortalize the 
race of Ful-bellies in Zeal-of-the-Land Busy. 

The name of the central figure in The Puritan, George Pye-board, is probably 
a punning allusion to George Peele," who was the perpetrator, according to 
contemporary story, of two of the tricks described in the comedy. 3 For any 
more definite information as to the source and authorship of the play, we must 
be content to await the discovery of further facts. 4 

IX. A Yorkshire Tragedy has from its first appearance been coupled with 
the name of Shakespeare. On May 2, 1608, it was entered on the Stationers' 
Register by the notorious Thomas Pavier (the publisher of Oldcastte) as a play 
'by Wylliam Shakespere '.* A quarto (Q. 1) followed at once, with the title: 
' A Yorkshire Tragedy. Not so Neiv as Lamentable and true. Acted by his 
Maiesties Players at the Globe. Written by W. Shakspeare. At London. Printed 
by R. B. for Thomas Pauier, and are to bee sold at his shop on Cornhill, neere to the 
exchange. 1608.' At the top of the first page of the text is the heading, ' All's 
One, or, One of the foure Plaies in one, called a York-shire Tragedy': as it was 

1 See, for example, the feeling behind Pye-board's and Puttock's colloquy on the 
gentlemanliness of scholars, in. iii. 62-72. 

2 ' Peel. A baker's shovel . . . for thrusting loaves, pies, &c., into the oven and 
withdrawing them from it.' New Eng. Diet. 

3 Cf. the second and the eleventh of The Merric conceited Jests of George Peele, 
Gent., 1607. Licensed Dec. 14, 1605. 

* The Stationers' Register has the following entry under date of Aug. 15, 1597, 
but it is by no means certain that the works referred to have any bearing upon our 
play : ' Richard Jones. Entred for his Copie by warraunt from master Warden 
man ij ballades beinge the ffirste and Second partes of the wydowe of Watling streete. 
xijd. Provided that noe Drapers name be set to them.' See Shirburn BaVads, I. 

6 ' 2 do die maij (1608). Master Pavyer Entered for his Copie vnder the handes of 
master Wilson and master Warden Seton^A booke Called A Yorkshire Tragedy written 
by Wylliam Shakespere. vjd.' 


plaid by the Kings Maiesties Plaiers.' Eleven years later a second quarto 
(Q. 2) was issued with the imprint, ' Written by W. Shakespeare. Printed for 
T. P. 1619.' The text of this latter edition, though inferior to that of Q. 1 in 
the few points of difference, was followed by the editors of the third and fourth 
Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2), Rowe, Pope, and Tonson. 

The murders represented in A Yorkshire Tragedy occurred in 1605, and are 
thus recorded in Stow's Chronicle : ' Walter Callverly of Calverly in Yorkshire 
Esquier, murdred 2 of his young children, stabbed his wife into the bodie with 
full purpose to have murdred her, and instantly went from his house to have 
slaine his youngest child at nurse, but was prevented. For which fact at his 
triall in Yorke hee stood mute and was judged to be prest to death, according to 
which judgment he was executed at the castell of Yorke the 5th of August 

This sensational crime, as might be supposed, attracted no less attention 
than the earlier murder of Arden. At least three narrative accounts of it were 
licensed within a couple of months of its occurrence. On June 12 (1605) a pam 
phlet was entered 1 with the title : ' A booke called Twoo vnnaturall Murthers, 
the one practised by master Coverley a Yorkshire gent, vppon his wife and 
happened on his children the 23 of Aprilis 1605 . . .' 2 In July we have notice of 
' A ballad of Lamentable Murther Done in Yorkeshire by a gent, vppon 2 of his 
owne Children sore woundinge his Wyfe and Nurse,' 3 and on August 24 we hear 
already of ' The Araignement Condempnacon and Execucon of Master Caverly 
at Yorke in Auguste 1605 '.* 

The authenticity 6f the Yorkshire Tragedy has been allowed by Steevens, 
Ulrici, Hopkinson, Ward 8 , and others ; but the case which has been made out 
for the negative by Malone, Tyrrell, Knight, Halliwell-Phillips, Symonds, and 
Swinburne seems much the stronger. The barbaric force of the play and the 
splendour of some of the prose it contains cannot fail to impress the reader ; 
but the late date (1605-8) is in itself an almost conclusive argument against the 
possibility of Shakespeare's authorship. 

Neither in characterization, nor in plot, nor in metrical peculiarities have 
the most ardent defenders of the Yorkshire Tragedy's authenticity pretended 
that there is any approach to Shakespeare's manner subsequent to 1605. There 
are only two really considerable characters in the tragedy, the husband and the 
wife, and they are represented in a quite un-Shakespearian fashion. Each is 

1 By Nathaniel Butter, 'vnder th(eh)andesof master Hartwell and master norton 

2 The entry continues : ' The other (murder) practised by Mistress Browne and 
performed by her servant vpon her husband who in lent last were executed at Berry 
in Suffolk.' This last crime forms the subject of A Warning for Fair Women. 

3 ' Tertio Julii (1605). Thomas Pavyer Entred for his Copie vnder the handes 
of the wardens A ballad,' &c. 

4 ' 24 Augustj (1605). Nathanael Butter Entred for his Copie vnder the hand of 
Master ffeild The Araignement,' &c. 

8 Ward accepts only the best prose passages. 


a mere type, not even invested with a name, and quite without the definite 
personality that Shakespeare in his maturity gives even to subordinate figures. 
The husband is a brilliant incarnation of wild fury and misdirected remorse. An 
unreasoning hatred of the world in which he has played so ignoble a role, and 
the ever-present consciousness of personal and family disgrace, drive him to seek 
momentary relief in brutish violence. The wife typifies the opposite extreme 
of rather unattractive docility. When this is said, there is little more to say ; 
few or none of the individualizing and humanizing touches that Shakespeare 
gives his characters are here to be found. 

The plot itself, in its nature narrow, sensational, and quite devoid of the 
morality of all Shakespeare's later work, speaks loud against the possibility of 
his authorship. To admit all this, as has been done, and explain A Yorkshire 
Tragedy as a sudden excursion by Shakespeare, during the last decade of his life, 
into a new and essentially lower field of literature, is to join the critical school 
of the famous friend of Schlegel, 1 who defended the authenticity of The Puritan 
on the ground that it was a successful attempt of Shakespeare to forsake his own 
style and write for once in that of Ben Jonson. 

Finally, the verse of the Yorkshire Tragedy has few, if any, of the characteristics 
of Shakespeare's later verse. The end-stopped lines amount to about 88 per cent., 
an exceedingly high proportion for late work, while as many as 20 per cent, of 
the verse lines two in every ten are in rhyme. This large number of rhyming 
lines is not to be found in any but the earliest of the genuine plays, and the 
rhymes, moreover, are frequently obtained by means of a distortion in the word 
order, such as Shakespeare was not reduced to even in his apprentice work. The 
following six lines exemplify the quality of verse to be found in the duller parts 
of A Yorkshire Tragedy : 

' Oh that I might my wishes now attaine, 

I should then wish you liuing were againe, 

Though I did begge with you, which thing I feard : 

Oh, twas the enemy my eyes so bleard. 

Oh, would you could pray heauen me to forgiue, 

That will vnto my end repentant Hue.' * 

If Shakespeare's hand is to be traced anywhere in this play, we must look 
for it solely in the two hundred lines of prose scattered through the first four 
scenes. Some of this prose is, indeed, very fine, particularly the opening scene 
between the servants, and the splendid monologue of the husband in Scene 4. 
The latter passage of twenty-five lines, to the beginning of the feeble verse 
appendage, is certainly the poetic climax of the play, and perhaps not unworthy 
of Shakespeare. Yet it may be denied most emphatically that there is, here or 
elsewhere, anything either in thought or in expression which bears credible 
witness to the presence of the true Shakespearian touch. 

As the heading of the first page of the quartos indicates,* the brief Yorkshire 
Tragedy, which runs to little over 700 lines, was performed in connexion with 

1 Cf. Schlegel's Lectures, ii. p. 266. * x. 45-50. * Cf. p. xxxiii. 


three other dramatic fragments. It is probable that these last were of yet cruder 
workmanship than our play, and that no effort was made to preserve them from 
oblivion once they had served their turn upon the stage. Their connexion with 
A Yorkshire Tragedy may have been solely a matter of theatrical convenience, 
but it is at least possible that some or all of them concerned the earlier history 
of Calverley, and presented much the same incidents which Wilkins has used 
in The Miseries of Enforced Marriage. 1 

X. The Merry Devil of Edmonton was entered on the Stationers' Register, 
Oct. 22, 1607, the author's name being omitted. 2 A second entry * on April 5, 
1608, referring to a ' booke called the lyfe and deathe of the merry Devill of 
Edmonton. ... By T. B.', alludes certainly to a prose work by Tony Brewer, which 
has only the remotest connexion with our comedy. The latter, however, is 
again mentioned on the books of the Stationers' Company, and for the first time 
coupled with Shakespeare's name, in are-entry by H. Moseley, the book-publisher, 
on Sept. 9, 1653. 

There are six seventeenth-century editions of The Merry Devil of Edmonton, all 
in quarto and all anonymous. The first (Q. 1), dated 1608, is to be found in the 
library of Trinity College, Cambridge, and bears the following title-page : ' The 
Merry Deuill of Edmonton. As it hath beene sundry times Acted, by his Maiesties 
Seruants, at the Globe on the bank-side. London, Printed by Henry Bollard for 
Arthur lohnson, dwelling at the signe of the white-horse in Paules Churchyard, ouer 
against the great North doore of Paules, 1608.' Other quartos followed in 1612 
(Q. 2), 1617 (Q. 3), 1626 (Q. 4), 1631 (Q. 5), 1655 (Q. 6). 4 

The text of this play abounds in difficulties, and a few passages seem hope 
lessly corrupt. The later editions sometimes correct misprints and insert emenda 
tions, but they throw little light on the real obscurities and have no independent 
authority. Altogether, though none of the quartos can perhaps be regarded as 
decidedly the best intrinsically, Q. 1, which gives as good sense as any, and 
stands nearest the original, appears to offer the beet basis for modern editions, 
and has here regularly been followed. 

The Merry Devil of Edmonton was as popular in the theatres as it appears 
to have been with the reading public. Reed first quoted 6 what is probably the 

1 Registered and published, 1607. This drama deals largely with the fate of the 
' young mistress ' alluded to in the first line of A Yorkshire Tragedy ; it has a happy 
ending. Cf. Hazlitt's Dodsley, vol. ix, for the text of the Miseries. Its connexion 
with our play was first pointed out ty Mr. P. A. Daniel, Athenaeum, Oct. 4, 1879. 

* ' 22 Octobris(1607). Arthur Johnson Entred for his copie vnder th(e h)andes 
of Sir George Buck knight and Th(e) Wardens. A Plaie called the Merry Devill of 
Edmonton, vjd.' 

3 ' 5 to Aprilis(1608). Joseph Hunt, Thomas Archer Entred for their copie. Vnder 
the hand of master Seton Warden a booke called the lyfe and deathe of the merry Devill 
of Edmonton with the pleasant prankes of Smugge the Smythe. Sir John, and myne 
Hoste of the " George " about their stealynge of Venson, by T. B. vjd.' 

* Q. 2 is not in any public library, but has been carefully collated by Warnke and 
Proescholdt from Mr. A. H. Huth's copy. Qq. 3-6 are in the British Museum ; 
Q. 3, Q. 5, also in the Bodleian. 

* Dodsley's Select Plays, 2nd ed., 1780. Vol. v, p. 247. 


first extant mention from the Blacke Booke by T. M. (1604) : ' Giue him leauc 
to see the Merry Devil of Edmunton or A Woman kill'd with kindness.' * From 
this we see that the play had attained a general reputation on the stage at least 
three years before it was registered for publication. Its vogue must, indeed, 
soon have become proverbial, for Ben Jonson asks in the Prologue to The Devil 
is an Ass : 2 

' And show this but the same face you have done 

Your dear delight, the Devil of Edmonton.' 

In Cunningham's Revels Accounts 3 there is the following mention of a performance 
before the King : ' To the said John Heminges upon a Warrant dated 15 May 
1618 for presenting before his Ma'y the thirde of May the Merry Divell of Edmon 
ton . . . x 11 .' It is not unimportant to note, if this extract can be relied on 
and there seems no cause to suspect a forgery that the presentation here referred 
to took place only two years after Shakespeare's death, and five before the 
publication of the first folio. If, then, Hemings later failed to include The Merry 
Devil of Edmonton in his edition of Shakespeare's works, it could not be because 
the play had not been brought conspicuously before his attention. 

The external evidence which has been collected to prove Shakespeare's 
authorship of The Merry Devil of Edmonton is of the most dubious kind. It 
consists merely in the unsupported statements of the booksellers Moseley and 
Kirkman 4 about the middle of the seventeenth century, and in the play's presence 
in the ' Shakespeare volume ' 5 of Charles the Second's library. Internal evidence 
there is none, unless we accept as such the not very significant likeness of Host 
Blague to the host in The Merry Wives of Windsor a likeness which, as far as 
it shows anything, shows that the one writer has imitated the other, or that 
both have found dramatic use for a very common stock type. 

Tieck was the first ' critic ' who ascribed The Merry Devil of Edmonton to 
Shakespeare. He offered no serious evidence in favour of his theory, but has 
been followed by two other German writers, Franz Horn and H. von Friesen. 
No English reader, except Hopkinson, has been able to detect in this comedy 
the slightest approach to Shakespeare's manner, and the more trustworthy 
Elizabethan scholars in Germany Bodenstedt, 6 Ulrici, Warnke and Proescholdt 
are equally incredulous. Two eighteenth-century antiquaries, Coxeter and 
Oldys, 7 assigned the play to Michael Drayton, for no very apparent reason except 
that the country in which the scene is laid is described in Polyolbion. Charles 

1 Middleton's Works, ed. Bullen, vol. viii, p. 36. 2 1616. 3 p. xlv. 

4 The editor of the first edition of Dodsley's Select Collection of Old Plays has the 
following prefatory note, which is both sound and candid : ' One Kirkman, a book 
seller, who, about fourscore years ago, made diligent enquiry after old" plays, and 
collated and published a great number, affirms this play to have been wrote by Shake- 
spear ; but I cannot help thinking he must be mistaken. When it was wrote I cannot 
say, or who was the author of It.' 

6 Cf. p. vii. 6 Note appended to Friesen's article : Jahrbuch I, p. 165. 

7 Cf. Reed's note on the play in the second edition of Dodsley's Collection, vol. v, 
p. 247, 1780. 


Lamb and Mr. Fleay slightly favour this attribution, while Hazlitt and Ulrici 
ascribe the comedy to Thomas Heywood instead. 

There seems no adequate reason to accept either Shakespeare, Drayton, or 
Heywood as the author of this fine play, and it will probably be long before we 
can venture with safety beyond the statement of Knight, that it is ' the perform 
ance of a true poet, whoever he be'. Certainly the vitality of the scenes, the 
heartiness of the humour, and the unsurpassed delicacy in the portrayal of true 
love and true friendship, make The Merry Demi of Edmonton one of the most 
delightful of all the pseudo-Shakespearian plays to read and to re-read. 

XI. Fair Em does not appear to have been registered at Stationers' Hall, 
though at least two early quarto editions were published. One of these, which 
we shall refer to as Q. 1, is undated, and has the title : ' A Pleasant Commodie, 
of faire Em the Millers daughter of Manchester : With the loue of William the 
Conqueror : As it was sundrietimes publiquely acted in the honourable citie of 
London, by the right honourable the Lord Strange his seruaunts. Imprinted at 
London for T. N. and I. W. and are to be solde in 8. Dunstones Church-yarde in 

The only known copy of this edition is in the Bodleian ; the other, somewhat 
commoner, quarto has a practically identical title-page, except as regards the 
imprint, which reads : ' Printed for John Wright, and are to be sold at his shop 
at the signe of the Bible in Guilt-spur street without Newgate. 1631.' The 
textual differences between the two editions are for the most part merely ortho 
graphic or accidental, but it seems likely that Q. 1, with its archaic spelling and 
grammar, is the older by perhaps a generation or more. The play is pretty 
definitely dated by the statement that it was acted by Lord Strange' s servants, 
for this name was applied to one of the London companies 1 only from 1589 to 
1593, and it seems probable that Q. 1 was published while the memory of ' the 
right honourable the Lord Strange his seruaunts ' was still fairly fresh in the 
mind of the publisher and the public to whose tastes he was catering. Q. 2 is 
hardly more than a reprint of Q. 1, occasionally correcting an obvious mistake 
but never venturing on the real elucidation which some passages greatly require. 

W. R. Chetwood, an eighteenth-century editor of Fair Em, enumerates three 
early editions of the play, assigning to one the date 1619. It was this 1619 quarto 
which Chetwood claimed to follow, but as the alterations which he introduced 
into the text are certainly not Elizabethan, 2 and as no one else has alluded to the 
edition of 1619, there is reason to believe it a mere figment of Chetwood's imagina 
tion, devised to give authority to his departure from the text of the two genuine 

Regarding the authorship of Fair Em we have not a shred of evidence previous 

Originally the Earl of Leicester's ; later successively the Earl of Derby's, Lord 
Hunsdon's, the Lord Chamberlain's, &c., cf. Fleay's History of the Stage, pp. 82 ff., 
133, &c. 

2 For a fuller discussion of this question, cf. Introduction to Warnke and Proes- 
choldt's edition of Fair Em, pp. viii, ix. 


to the Eestoration. The only seventeenth-century hint of Shakespeare's con 
nexion with the play is the label ' Shakespeare. Vol. I ' on the back of the book 
which contained Fair Em, Mucedorus, and The Merry Devil of Edmonton, in the 
library of Charles II. Such small weight as this doubtful testimony may have 
is quite balanced by the assertion of Edward Phillips in his Theatrum Poetanim l 
that Fair Em was written by Robert Greene. Both these ascriptions have found 
defenders, but it is at present almost certain that neither of the poets suggested 
was ever in the least degree connected with the writing of our comedy. 

The theory of Greene's authorship, advanced by Phillips and accepted by 
Dyce, has been discredited by R. Simpson, who shows that two lines in the last 
scene 2 are ridiculed, and the unknown author violently attacked, in Greene's 
Farewell to Folly, published in 1591. Tieck, Horn, Hopkinson, and Simpson 
have imagined that they saw in Fair Em indications of Shakespeare's handiwork, 
but only the last has produced arguments which to-day deserve even casual 
consideration. Simpson's idea, which he has elaborated with rather excessive 
ingenuity, is that Shakespeare wrote Fair Em as an allegorical attack on Greene 
and his school. William the Conqueror represents William Kempe, who had 
recently led a theatrical company to Denmark ; Mountney typifies Marlowe, 
Manvile Greene, and the successful Valingford, Shakespeare himself, while Fair 
Em symbolizes the prize of the dramatic contest, the Manchester public. This 
interpretation is accepted in general by Mr. Fleay, who, however, ascribes the 
play to R. Wilson instead of Shakespeare, and explains Valingford as George 
Peele, while Fair Em, in his judgement, means the company of Queen's Players, 
not the Manchester audience. 

In regard to the possible allegorical significance of Fair Em, the sanest con 
clusion is doubtless that to which Warnke and Proescholdt have come : there 
may be a substratum of allegory beneath the structure of the comedy, but it is 
only vaguely discernible, if it exists, and fails entirely to support the elaborate 
edifice of theory which both Mr. Simpson and Mr. Fleay have attempted to erect 
upon it. Mr. Simpson appears to have proved two facts : first, that Fair Em 
was not written by Greene ; and, secondly, that it antedates Greene's Farewell 
to Folly. 3 It is doubtless equally certain that he has not succeeded in establishing, 
from external evidence, even the slightest probability of the play's Shakespearian 
origin, while, as he practically admits himself, the dramatic character and style 
of the work tend strongly to negative his arguments. In Fair Em, as Charles 
Knight says, ' we look in vain for all that sets Shakespeare so high above his 
contemporaries ; his wit, his humour, his poetry, his philosophy, his intimate 
knowledge of man, his exquisite method.' 

Fair Em is a thoroughly childish and inartistic production. Its only charm 
rests in the fact that it exhibits, with much of the crudity, also something of the 
heartiness and freshness of childish performances. Regarded as a serious essay 

1 1675. 2 v. 121 and 157. 

3 1591. For another indication of date, cf. p. xxxviii. 


in dramatic art, it is full of impossibilities and absurdities both in the conception 
of the characters and in the incidents by which the action is carried along. Yet 
for the reader who can overlook its puerilities and occasional flatnesses, this 
indifferent play will probably justify the claim of the title-page, that it is ' a 
pleasant coinmodie '. 

Fair Em might well have been defined in terms dear to the Elizabethan 
playwrights as ' Two Comedies in One '. Only in the fifth act is there any sort 
of real connexion between the two plots which make up the drama. The source 
of the story that gives the work its title is so far undiscovered ; the other plot 
that of William the Conqueror and the Danish Court has been shown by Pro 
fessor Schick, in his scholarly Preface to The Spanish Tragedy, 1 to come from 
Henry Wotton's Courtlie controuersie of Cupids Cautels (1578), which is itself 
a translation of Jaques Yver's Prin-Temps d 1 Yver. The novel which concerns us 
is the fourth in the collection ; it ends tragically with the execution of Lubeck 
and the suicide of William. 

XII. Of all the doubtful plays, The Two Noble Kinsmen is the one which has 
inspired the greatest amount of criticism and conjecture ; yet there is perhaps 
no other member of the class that has so thoroughly maintained the mystery 
of its authorship, or has so often obliged candid investigators to retract their 
theories and confess themselves at a loss. This brilliant and puzzling drama 
was registered April 8, 1634," and appeared first in quarto (Q.) with the interest 
ing title-page : ' The Two Noble Kinsmen : Presented at the Blackfriers by the 
Kings Maiesties servants, with great applause : Written bij the memorable Worthies 
of their time ; 

Mr. John Fletcher, and 

Mr. William Shakespeare, i Gent ' 
Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, for lohn Waterson : and are to be sold at the siync 
of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.' 

The only other seventeenth-century edition is that (F.) which was published 
in 1679, with no mention of Shakespeare's name, in the second Beaumont- 
Fletcher folio. That this text is only a reprint of Q. with revised spelling, 
is made clear both from collation and from the express indication at the beginning 
of the folio that The Two Noble Kinsmen is one of the seventeen plays omitted 
in the first folio of Beaumont and Fletcher, and printed ' out of 4to '. The play 
has maintained its position in subsequent editions of Beaumont and Fletcher, 
and has been frequently published of late years, either separately or in collections. 
The standard edition is that prepared in 1876 for the New Shakspere Society 
by Harold Littledale. 

We first hear of a drama on the subject of Chaucer's Kniglites Tale in the 

1 Temple Dramatists edition, p. xxvi. 

1 ' 8Aprilis(1634). Master John Waterson Entrcd for his Copy vmler the hands 
of Sir Henry Herbert and master Aspley warden a TragiOomedy called the two noble 
kinsmen by John ffletcher and William Shakespeare, vjd.' 


accounts of Queen Elizabeth's entertainment at Oxford in 1566. Stow's Chronicle 
for August 31, 1566, contains the following allusion : ' Comedies also and Trage 
dies were played in Christs Church, where the Queene's Highnesse lodged. Among 
the which, the Comedie entituled Palemon and Arcet, made by Master Edwards 
of the Queenes Chappell, had such tragicall successe as was lamentable ; for at 
that time, by the fall of a wall, and a paire of staires, and great presse of the 
multitude, three men were slaine.' l 

In Henslowe's Diary for the months of September-November, 1594, occur 
four notices of receipts from the presentation of a play with the same name, 
' palamon and arsett.'j The letters 'ne ', affixed to the earliest entry, that of 
Sept. 17, show that the drama was on that day acted for the first time. 8 Collier's 
theory is that the work here mentioned is a revision of Edwards's old play, pre 
pared by Shakespeare for joint performance by the Lord Chamberlain's and 
Lord Admiral's companies at the Newington Theatre, and that the Shakespearian 
portions were later elaborated by Fletcher in The Two Noble Kinsmen. Skeat 
and Littledale, however, base our play directly on Chaucer, and deny with probable 
justice that it has any connexion with either of the earlier dramas just mentioned, 
both of which are now lost. 

Modern criticism is unanimous on two points : First, that The Two Noble 
Kinsmen was written by two poets, very different in style, genius, and character. 
Second, that the longer and weaker portion is mainly or exclusively the work 
of Fletcher. The separation is thus made by Littledale : 

(a) The non-Fletcher part : I. i (except 11. 1-40), part of ii, iii, iv ; n. i ; 
III. i, ii ; nearly all of iv. iii ; v. i (except 11. 1-19), part of iii, iv (except 11. 99-113). 

(b) The Fletcher part : All the rest. 

The ' metrical tests ' have been applied to this play with striking effect. 
The results of Littledale's reckoning as to the comparative proportion of double 
endings and run-on lines in the two divisions of the Avork may be tabulated thus : 

Double endings. Run-on lines. 

Part not by Fletcher 1 to 3-49 1 to 1-78 

Part by Fletcher 1 to 1-89 1 to 4-06 

The utter dissimilarity is obvious at a glance. In fact there is not the least 
difficulty in distinguishing the parts, except in one or two prose scenes belonging 
to the underplot, and in several passages which appear to combine the work 
of both hands. It is of importance to note that the style of the un-Fletcherian 
part of The Two Noble Kinsmen, as represented by the metrical tests, approaches 
very near to that of The Winter's Tale and The Tempest, and that it almost 

1 Littledale (Introduction 10*, 11*) quotes a fuller account of this catastrophe from 
Nicholls, Progr. of Eliz., 1823, pp. 210-13. The authority is Anthony Wood. 

2 The following allusion in Bartholomew Fair, 1614 (iv. ii, Mermaid ed., pp. 103-4), 
is probably to this play : ' Quar. . . Well, my word is out of the Arcadia, then ; 
Argalus. Winw. And mine out of the play ; Palemon.'' From the reference to the 
Arcadia, we may infer that the work coupled with it was not a recent one. Though it 
is possible, it seems to me excessively improbable that The Two Noble Kinsmen was 
acted as early as 1614, or indeed for some years after. 


coincides with that of the un-Fletcherian part of Henry VIII, ascribed usually 
to Shakespeare, but by some recent critics to Massinger. 

The answer to the long-mooted question as to Shakespeare's part-authorship 
of The Two Noble Kinsmen has always depended, and still depends, on the balanc* 
ing of the undeniably Shakespearian tone of the style against the quite un* 
Shakespearian characterization. There arc great names in abundance on 
each side. 

The authenticity of the so-called Shakespeare parts has been defended by 
Lamb, Coleridge, De Quincey, Tyrrell, Spalding, Hallam, Hickson, Skeat, Furness, 
Littledale, Hopkinson, and Swinburne. The number of the sceptics is equally 
large and no less distinguished, including, strange to say, the usually over- 
credulous German writers. The case for the negative has been put boldly and 
trenchantly by Shelley in a letter to his wife : * ' I have been reading the " Noble 
Kinsmen ", in which, with the exception of that lovely scene, to which you added 
so much grace in reading to me, I have been disappointed. The Jailor's Daughter 
is a poor imitation, and deformed. The whole story wants moral discrimination 
and modesty. I do not believe Shakespeare wrote a word of it.' The same 
disbelief has been expressed by Steevens, Hazlitt, Knight, Ulrici, Delius, von 
Friesen, Halli well -Phillips, Boyle, Bierfreund, Furnivall, and Fleay. 

In all that pertains to verse form and poetic expression the un-Fletcherian 
scenes of The Two Noble Kinsmen must probably impress the majority of readers 
as more overwhelmingly Shakespearian than any considerable passage hi 
Edward III, Arden of Feversham, or A Yorkshire Tragedy. Yet in the case of 
this play no less certainly than in the case of the others it seems to be the tendency 
of good criticism to discredit the idea of Shakespeare's authorship. As Professor 
Ward says, 8 ' The ordinary results of a prolonged reflexion on the problem of the 
authorship of the doubtful portions of The Tivo Noble Kinsmen seems to be either 
an increased unwillingness, or at least a diminished willingness, to decide it in 
favour of the only specious claim that which has been advanced on behalf of 

An interesting case in point is that of Mr. Spalding, who in 1833 defended the 
genuineness of the ' Shakespearian ' scenes in his classic Letter on Shakespeare's 
A uthorship of the Two Noble Kinsmen. Seven years later his opinion was ' not 
now so decided as it once was ' ; and in 1847 he had become so doubtful as to 
declare : ' The question of Shakespeare's share in this play is really insoluble.' 3 
Similarly, Mr. Fleay and Dr. Furnivall, who at first accepted the authenticity 
of the doubtful scenes, came, on maturer consideration, to pronounce them 
certainly spurious. 

It is highly improbable that any critical reader of this play lias mot with 
a single scene which, after judging it on its own merits, he has been able to 

1 Pro^e Works (ed. 1888), ii. :>:5:>. - /;/. Iffnn,. Lit. ii. -J4:i. 

3 Cf. the reprint of the Letter v.itii ' Forewords ' by Furnivall in Publication-* of 
Xev. Sh. Soe.. 1876. 


pronounce candidly and With absolute confidence to be the work of Shakespeare. 
It would scarcely be too much to say that there is not even one speech which has 
ever seemed thoroughly and completely convincing to any conscientious student 
no speech, that is, on which he would have been willing to rest the whole 
question, declaring that just here, if nowhere else, the fingers of the greatest 
poet of the world have infallibly left their mark. On the contrary, when we 
consider individually the parts of The Two Noble Kinsmen which have been 
ascribed to Shakespeare, we find invariably that each act, scene, or verse falls 
just short of what it should be. Always there is the strong Shakespearian remi 
niscence, but nowhere quite the full and perfect reality that we could swear to. 

The advocates of the play's authenticity are, therefore, driven upon one or the 
other of two entirely illegitimate courses : either they argue from vague generali 
ties of impression, without venturing upon the examination of details, whether 
of method, characterization, or technique ; or they go on the hypothesis 
perfectly unjustifiable and illogical that we have before us not, indeed, Shake 
speare's work as we all know it, but the same work degraded and weakened by 
the mischievous revision of Fletcher. On this last assumption there is no depth 
of critical absurdity which may-Bofe-be reached. Admitting once that we are 
to judge of the work of Shakespeare not by what we know it to be, but by what 
we imagine that it might have been after alteration and debasement at the hands 
of a Fletcher or a Rowley, we may prove Shakespeare's concern in any wretched 
play of his age in Fair Em itself, if we like by merely assuming a sufficiently 
small amount of the Shakespearian gold and a relatively large amount of the alloy. 

That portion of The Two Noble Kinsmen which is obviously not Fletcher's 
contains some of the most brilliant of Jacobean poetry. It is not less certain, 
I think, that it contains no spark of psychological insight or philosophy of life 
which can in sober moments be thought either worthy of the mature Shakespeare 
or even suggestive of him. 

On the utter absurdity of associating Emilia, as she appears in any scene 
of the play, with Imogen or Miranda, or indeed with any other reputable dramatic 
heroine, Dr. Furnivall appears to have spoken the final word. Nor can her 
coarseness be explained, as critics have attempted to explain the spinelessness of 
Palamon and Arcite, by the theory that Fletcher has marred the promise of 
Shakespeare's plan. In the most distinctly un-Fletcherian scenes of all she is 
what Dr. Furnivall has called her, ' a silly lady's-maid or shop girl, not knowing 
her own mind, up and down like a bucket in a well.' l 

On the dramatic character of the scenes not Fletcher's, few words require 
to be said, but they must be strong ones. There are two portions of the play 
which probably dwell so vividly in every reader's mind as to obscure the recol 
lection of all the rest. They are the first scene of the first act and the first scene 
of the fifth. Both, it need hardly be said, are by another than Fletcher, and 

1 Note, for instance, her really revolting \vishy-washiness and ingrained fensuality- 
in what are perhaps her best scenes, iv, ii (the portrait scene) and v. iii. 


neither has much to do with the action of the play. They are, as De Quincey 
has remarked, 1 examples of the most gorgeous rhetoric, and there is little reason, 
I think, for adding De Quincey's qualification that they are anything much better. 

Had the first scene of The Two Noble Kinsmen come in the middle, the play's 
claim to authenticity would probably have found far fewer supporters. As it 
is, we are gripped at the very start by the grand operatic opening, the music of 
the verse, the spectacular effect of the marriage procession met by the sombre 
and hysterical widows, by the swaying of the opposing groups to and fro across 
the stage, by the co-operative supplication and bending of knees not singly and 
individually, but in symmetrical groups, and, as it were, to the sound of music 
by all the specious clap-trap, in fact, which seems to be dramatic action, and is 
really mere verbiage and ballet-dancing. That Shakespeare wrote a syllable of 
this scene will hardly be believed by any diligent reader who will take the trouble 
to ask himself what it all means and what is its connexion with the rest of the play. 

The other memorable scene is that in which Arcite, Palamon, and Emilia 
offer their prayers before the altars of their patron deities. Here again we have 
an entire lack of dramatic utility or propriety cloaking itself behind spectacular 
brilliance and fine but unmeaning poetry. The whole incident is, of course, 
transported bodily from Chaucer's tale, where it is in keeping, to the closing act 
of the drama, where it most emphatically is not. Two of the speeches those 
of Aroite and Emilia are in De Quincey's words, ' gorgeous rhetoric ' ; the third 
is hardly that. They would make a fine though somewhat tedious division of an 
epic poem, but to suppose that they were foisted in by Shakespeare himself at 
the very climax of his play, and were meant by him for representation before 
an audience uninterested in mythical rites or divinities, but craving immediate 
and realistic action, this surely is to strain credulity to the breaking-point. 

In conclusion we may thus sum up the matter : metrical and external evidence 
agree in proving that, if Shakespeare wrote any part of The Two Noble Kinsmen 
in its present form, he must have done so during the very last period of his career. 
But, rich as the language and verse are in Shakespearian reminiscence, there is 
practically nothing in characterization or dramatic structure which points to 
the author of The Tempest ; while such defects as the ambiguous personality of 
Emilia, he failure properly to..diatinguish between P^n^n $$$ Arcite. and the 
low dramatic pitch of the doubtful scenes render their ascription to the mature 
Shakespeare all but unpardonable. The only hypothesis, indeed, on which 
present-day criticism can even consider the idea of Shakespeare's connexion with 
The Two Noble Kinsmen is that laid down, not very probably, by Mr. Herford ; 
namely, that the play consists of very late ' poetic ' 2 fragments by Shakespeare, 
subsequently connected and completed by Fletcher. 

If we put aside for the present the theory of Shakespeare's authorship as 

1 Works, ed. 1862, x. 49. 

2 Fragments, that is, in which the requirements of practical stagecraft were 
neglected to a much greater extent than in The Tempest. 


being at the very least quite undemonstrable, there remain for consideration the 
claims of three other poets. George Chapman was suggested by Knight * many 
years ago, but no other writer has accepted the idea as even conceivable, and it 
need be mentioned only to be rejected. An acute Danish scholar, Dr. Bierfreund, 
maintains in his dissertation on ' Palamon og Arcite ' 2 that Beaumont was 
Fletcher's sole collaborator in The Two Noble Kinsmen, 3 which he believes to be 
their first joint work. This attribution is favoured by the well-known fact of 
the literary partnership between Beaumont and Fletcher, and by the metrical 
similarity of Beaumont's verse to that of Shakespeare's last period and of the 
' Shakespearian ' part of The Two Noble Kinsmen. Beyond this, however, there 
seems to be nothing to support Dr. Bierfreund's theory, which, till it is further 
substantiated, can hardly be regarded as more than an ingenious guess. 

Undoubtedly the most serious claimant to the honour, besides Shakespeare, 
is Philip Massinger, whose cause has been championed with a good deal of ability 
by Boyle and Fleay. In poetic technique, Massinger has been shown to approach 
nearest of all the Elizabethans to Shakespeare, and the metrical tests give him 
an even better title than his master to the doubtful part of our play. Moreover, 
the structural and psychological imperfections of the work, the tendency to 
unnecessary coarseness of language, the feeble imitation of Shakespeare, the 
frequent similarity to Massinger's acknowledged writings, all tell as strongly 
for Massinger's. authorship as against that of Shakespeare. 

There appears, indeed, to be but one serious objection to the assumption, other 
wise very probable, that The Two Noble Kinsmen was written by Fletcher and 
Massinger, and that is the magnificent poetry of the un-Fletcherian part, with 
which hardly anything in Massinger's accepted work can compare. Prudent 
criticism will leave the whole question in doubt, till more evidence can be obtained. 
Yet, if a tentative decision is to be made from the facts at present before us, it 
appears both a more logical and a more pleasant course to assume that Massinger 
should, for once, have risen to the lofty poetry of The Two Noble Kinsmen, than 
to asume that the ripened Shakespeare should have stooped to its low level of 
character and morality. 

XIII. The Birth of Merlin survives in a late seventeenth-century quarto 
(Q.) with the following title : ' The Birth of Merlin : or The Childe hath found 
his Father. As it hath been several times Acted with great Applause. Written by 
William Shakespear, and William Rowley. Placere cupio. London : Printed by 
Tho. Johnson for Francis Kirkman, and Henry Marsh, and are to be sold at the 
Princes Arms in Chancery-Lane. 1662.' 

There seems to have been no second edition till the publication of Tyrrell's 
' Doubtful Plays of Shakspere ' in 1851. The spelling of Q, as might be expected, 
is of the usual Restoration character, and the metre has been corrupted, in many 

1 Pictorial Shakespeare, vii. p. 182 ff. 2 p. 77. 

8 The same view has been expressed more casually by Colman (Beaumont and 
Fletcher's Works, 1778) and Hazlitt (Elizabethan Literature). 


cases irretrievably, by the printing of the entire play in long prose lines appar 
ently to save space. From the language and grammar, however, as well as from 
the general tone, it is clear that The Birth of Merlin was not composed later than 
the reign of James I ; nor is it at all likely that it antedates James's accession. 
Mr. Fleay assigns it, in its present form, to the year 1622. 

There is no external evidence of Shakespeare's partial authorship except that 
of the publisher, Kirkman, repeated in his catalogues of 1661 and 1671, where we 
read : ' Shakespear and Rowley . . Birth of Merlin . . T(ragi) C(omedy).' 
This attribution, made so long after Shakespeare's death, and by a particularly 
untrustworthy authority, has met with scant respect in modern times save from 
the early German critics, Tieck and Horn. There is not a single poetic passage 
in The Birth of Merlin, which will justify for an instant the hypothesis of Shake 
speare's authorship. The disjointed nature of the plot, moreover, the foolish 
and immature morality of the Modestia scenes, and the repeated appeals to the 
cheap make-shifts of sorcery and divination, stamp it as distinctively un-Shake- 

Yet the reader of this play will perceive, as no modern reader of Cromwell 
or The London Prodigal easily can, what was in the minds of those critics who 
have defended its genuineness. One meets with occasional bits of poetry and 
characterization which have certainly a remote kinship to Shakespeare and were 
probably written under his influence. In passages like the speeches of Prince 
Uter in n. iii l , we recognize dimly and afar off the syntactic rush, the ease of 
verse flow, the figurative power, and sincerity of emotion, which we know in 
Shakespeare. The strength and naturalness of the lines given to Edoll in II. ii, 
show that the author could portray deep passion in lucid, simple verse. 

But in other places we find what seems to be intentional and rather disastrous 
imitation of Shakespeare's broken syntax and bold use of words. In these cases 
we acknowledge ourselves in the presence of a poet of rather more than respectable 
endowments, yet we must often feel that the actual value of the thought is 
hardly sufficient recompense for untwisting the convolutions of a sentence such 
as this : 

' Or like to Marius soldiers, who, o'retook, 
The eyesight killing Gorgon at one look 
Made everlasting stand : so fear'd my power, 
Whose cloud aspir'd the Sun, dissolv'd a shower.' 2 

No commentator has seen particular reason to deny William Rowley's concern 
in The Birth of Merlin, since this Rowley was too obscure a dramatist to be 
credited with a play, without at least hearsay evidence in his favour. Hopkinson 
assigns the entire performance to Rowley, while Fleay, on the other hand, believes 
his part to consist solely or mainly in the revision of another man's work. Mr. P. A. 
Daniel (1884) suggested Middleton as the author of the play, and Mr. Fleay at 
one time accepted this attribution with conviction, at least as regards the serious 

1 11. 162-9, 183-205. * n. i, 11. 95-8. 


parts. 1 Till the matter has been much more thoroughly investigated, however, 
the connexion of Middleton with The Birth of Merlin must remain quite problem 
atical. It is perhaps an indication in his favour that the detailed legal allusions 2 
prove the author to have been one well versed in the law, 3 and the fact of his 
frequent collaboration * with William Rowley adds a little more to the weight of 
confirmatory evidence. 

XIV. Until 1844, the fine play of *SVr Thomas More existed only in a confused, 
mutilated, and generally unknown manuscript belonging to the British Museum. 6 
In that year it was transcribed by Dyce, with admirable fidelity, and printed 
for the Shakespeare Society. The only other edition, with modernized spelling, 
was published in 1902 by A. F. Hopkinson for private circulation. As Mr. Hop- 
kinson did not consult the MS., his variations from Dyce have no claim to con 
sideration except as pure conjecture. 

The text of Dyce contains a few unintentional deviations from the MS., such 
as the difficult and varied handwriting of the latter rendered practically unavoid 
able. These trifling inaccuracies, so far as careful collation has revealed them, 
have been set right in the present edition. For certain parts of the play, however, 
Dyce's version must remain the ultimate authority, since a number of words and 
lines, intelligible to him, have by the subsequent deterioration of the MS. become 
quite indecipherable or have entirely crumbled away. The manuscript consists 
of twenty sheets, written in five 6 different hands. The paper is not of the same 
kind throughout, and some of the scenes are obviously misplaced. In several cases 
we get two drafts of the same scene, while small portions of other scenes have 
been entirely lost. Altogether the confusion is extreme ; yet Dyce has succeeded 
in effecting what appears to be certainly the proper arrangement, and the lacunae 
are nowhere so great as to obscure the plot. 

Leaves 3-5, 10, 11, 14, 15, 17-22, of the MS., 7 comprising about two-thirds 
of the whole, are undoubtedly older than the rest. These thirteen leaves, written 
closely on both sides of the paper, with a certain amount of neatness and only 
the usual copyist's errors, belong, without doubt, to the draft of the play which 
was submitted to Sir Edmund Tilney, the Master of the Revels, for licence to act. 
On the margins of these pages we meet, from time to time, with Tilney's com 
ments, called forth by what he regarded as the seditious nature of various passages. 
Thus, at the top of the very first page he has written : ' Leaue out ye insurrection 
wholy and the cause thereoff, and begin with Sir Tho. Moore at ye mayors sessions, 
with a reportt afterwardes off his good seruice don, being shriue off London, 

1 Life of Shakespeare, 1889, pp. 289-90. Withdrawn Biog. Chron. Eng. Dr., 1891, 
ii. 105, where he regards the Birth of Merlin as a refashioning by Rowley of an older 
play, possibly the Utcr Pcndragon, acted bythe Admiral's Company in 1597. 

*e.g. n. i'ii. 20-2; m. i. 89-91 ; in. ii/38-44. 

:1 Middleton may have boon a member of Gray's Inn. 

4 Cf. Fleay, Biogruph. Chron. on ' Middleton '. '" Harleian 7308. 

6 Possibly only four; of. p. xlviii. According lo Dr. Fiirnivall, there are clearly 
six, and perhaps seven. 

' That is, leaves 1 3, &c., of the piny, which begins on the third leaf of the MS. 


.vppon a mutiny agaynst ye Lumbardes, only by a shortt reportt, and nott other 
wise, att your own perrilles. E. Tyllney.' 

The insurrection scene, however, and the other parts to which the Master 
of the Bevels took exception were not left out, but merely recast. There appears, 
indeed, to have been no difference of plot between the original version of Sir 
Thomas More, as submitted to Tilney, and the elaborated form in which the 
MS. preserves it. The new scenes are revisions of the old ones, indescribably 
finer in several instances as poetry and drama, but adding no fresh element to 
the general design. 

In one or two cases a page of the original matter has been almost totally 
hidden by having a new passage pasted bodily over it. The thirteen legible 
leaves of the original draft give us the following scenes. Act i, Scene i, ii, iii ; 
II. i, iv (11. 173-end) ; in. i ; iv. i (11. 1-309), ii, iii, iv, v (except new draft of 
11. 68-104) ; v. i, ii, iii, iv. Scraps of other important scenes, such as u. ii and 
in. ii, are also occasionally discernible, but the old versions of these parts of the 
play have generally been deleted or pasted over to prevent confusion with the 
new, improved readings. 

The original draft of the play, as submitted to Tilney, is in a single hand 
and runs on almost without a blot or correction ; it is a clean copy, made perhaps 
not by the author himself, but by a professional scribe. The later insertions, 
however, leaves 6-9, 12, 13, 16 are for the most part preserved exactly as 
they were composed. They are full of deletions and alterations, and are written 
on paper of varying sorts and sizes, in certainly three, probably four, different 
hands, none of which resembles that of the original thirteen sheets. If, then, we 
call the handwriting of the first draft Hand A, we may thus indicate the various 
sorts which appear on the seven new leaves : 

Hand B. Found only on leaf 6, which contains a revision 1 of the scene 
between More and his wife (iv. v, 11. 68-104). This passage of seventy lines was 
never properly fitted into the play, so that the old version in Hand A has been 
left standing hi its proper place, while the improved, lengthened version in 
Hand B was negligently inserted between n. i and n. ii. 

Hand C. Occurring on the first page of leaf 7 (n. ii) and on leaf 16 (iv. i. 309, 
S. D. ' Enter a Servingman,' to end of scene). 

Hand D. This is the handwriting which Mr. Simpson and Mr. Spedding have 
united in assigning to Shakespeare upon evidence of a most interesting character. 
The only difficulty connected with the discrimination between the various hand 
writings of the MS. concerns itself with this Hand D. Mr. Simpson " believed that 
all the passages hi the play, which are not in the easily recognizable A, B, and C 
hands, are written in Hand D and by Shakespeare. This would make the latter 
the author or reviser of the following scenes : n. iii, iv (11. 1-172) ; ill. ii and iii. 

Mr. Spedding, 3 on the contrary, recognizes a fifth hand, to which he assigns : 

1 Printed in the Appendix to the play, pp. 419, 420. 

* -1 Soles and Queries, viii. 1 ff . * 4 Notes and Q 

ucries, x. 227 ff. 


n. iii ; in. ii, 11. 1-282 ; in. iii ; and perhaps the remaining part of in. ii. Thus 
Spedding leaves to Shakespeare only the magnificent insurrection scene ' to the 
end of line 172, and a very doubtful title to the end of in. ii from line 283. The 
best judgement on this difficult question seems that kindly given me by Mr. Her 
bert, of the British Museum, 2 who considers all the scenes ascribed by Simpson 
to Shakespeare to be in one handwriting, with the exception of in. ii, 11. 283-end. 
In agreement with this opinion we divide as follows : 

Hand D : ii. iii, iv (11. 1-172) ; in. ii (11. 1-282), iii. 

Hand E : in. ii (11. 283-end). 

The manuscript of Sir TJiomas More contains no direct statement in regard 
to the play's origin. The questions of authorship, date, and stage production 
are all left dark, except for such doubtful light as a few casual allusions in the 
body of the text may shed. That the drama belongs to the end of the sixteenth 
century, and probably not to the extreme end, is indicated by several considera 
tions. In Act IV, Scene I, 3 there occur two anachronistic references to Ogle, 
a theatrical wig-maker mentioned in Cunningham's Revels Accounts for 1573, 
and again under date of 1584. As one of the players is represented as leaving 
More's house to get from Ogle a false beard, with which he later appears, the 
realistic effect of the allusion would have been lost, had not Ogle's shop been in 
actual existence when the drama was produced. 

Dyce suggested 1590, or just before, as the date of the play, and Simpson, 
who regarded the insurrection scenes as inspired by a similar outbreak in 1586, 
decided positively for that year or the next. Mr. Fleay, on the other hand, 
supported by Hopkinson, pronounced 1595-6 the earliest probable date, and 
refers to a rising in June, 1595, which might well have given appositeness to the 
insurrection scenes and rendered them particularly distasteful to the Master of 
the Revels. The two dates proposed by Simpson and Fleay respectively may 
safely be accepted as determining the period within which Sir Thomas More 
was written. 

The additions were most likely composed soon after the body of the play. 
This is almost certainly true of More's magnificent speech in defence of order 
and humanity in ii. iv, intended obviously as a balance to the revolutionary 
scenes which so displeased Tilney. Without such a makeweight on the side of 
law, no theatre manager, however bold, could well have ventured to perform 
the first part of the play, in the face of the tremendous prohibition : ' Leaue 
out ye insurrection wholy and the cause thereoff . . . att your own perrilles.' 
The most probable explanation of the number of hands concerned in the work 

1 n. iv. 

* Through the kindness of Dr. Furnivall I am able to give also the careful opinion 
of Mr. Warner, the Keeper of the MSS. at the British Museum. His belief is that 
ff. 8, 9 the leaves containing the insurrection scene (n. iv. 1-172) are in a different 
hand from the rest, but he is not sure of the matter. This view would make the 
problem much simpler, but I have thought it safer to accept the decision which is 
less fa-curable to the idea of Shakespeare's authorship. 3 11. 126, 292 


and the extraordinary disorder of the MS. seems to be that the manager, anxious 
to act the play with the least possible loss of time, but afraid to run directly 
counter to authority, turned the original draft over to several writers, each of 
whom hastily revised what seemed to him most glaringly in need of alteration. 

There is reason for believing that Sir Thomas More was acted by the Lord 
Chamberlain's Servants. Before the speech of the Messenger in in. iii, the MS. 

writes : m l ^ ess ' | which, of course, means that the messenger's part was to be 

taken by T. Goedal. Thomas Goodale, who is here indicated, is known 1 to have 
been in 1592 a subordinate member of the Lord Strange's Company, later called 
the Lord Chamberlain's. 

Such discussion as this play has received hitherto has concenied itself chiefly 
with the interesting possibility that the scenes in Hand D, or some part of them, 
may be directly from the pen and brain of Shakespeare. The theory of Shake 
spearian part-authorship was evolved by Kichard Simpson in 1871, and supported 
in the following year by James Spedding, with the differences as to detail already 
specified. Mr. Hopkinson has accepted their general conclusions, and Professor 
Ward, declaring his inability to judge concerning the genuineness of the so-called 
Shakespearian handwriting, goes on to say : 2 'As to the style and manner of 
the passages in question, not only may the speeches of More, in particular that 
addressed to the insurgents, which may have been specially elaborated to suit 
the requirements of the licenser, be said without hesitation to have the true 
Shakespearean manner, besides being genuinely Shakespearean in feeling, but it 
is with difficulty they can be conceived to have been written by any other con 
temporary author.' Dr. Furnivall, on the other hand, doubts that the text of 
the insurrection scene, &c., in the MS., is hi Shakespeare's writing, and says of 
this portion of the play that there is ' nothing necessarily Shaksperean in it, 
though part of it (is) worthy of him '. 3 Mr. Fleay appears likewise to be in 

The difficult question raised by these dissimilar opinions would be much easier 
of solution if we could, with Spedding, dismiss all but the supreme passage in the 
play, the culminating insurrection scene and speech of More, 5 as written in 
a different hand, and therefore not belonging to the Shakespearian matter. This, 
it must be said in candour, we are perhaps hardly justified hi doing. All the 
scenes enumerated on p. xlix as belonging to Hand D including the relatively 
weak Randall-Erasmus-More passages in in. ii, and the even more commonplace 
n. iii may very probably be in the same handwriting. Moreover, it is practically 
certain, from the appearance of the MS. of the ' insurrection scene ' (as will be 
indicated later) that the handwriting is that of the author. If, therefore, we 

1 Cf. Fleay, Hist, of the Stage, p. 84. s Eng. Dram. Lit., ii, 214. 

3 Royal Shakspere, i, cxv. His opinion has not altered materially since. 

* Life of Shakespeare, 292 ff. 6 ii. iv, 11. 1-172. 

At least for the present, though we should have Mr. Warner's great authority 
for doing so. Cf. p. xlix, note 2. 


decide that n. iv, 11. 1-172, is written and composed by Shakespeare, then we 
should be prepared to accept n. iii ; in. ii, 11. 1-282 ; in. iii, as at least transcribed 
in Shakespeare's hand. It is quite possible to do this, and the necessity of doing 
so detracts little perhaps from the strength of the case which may be founded 
on the ' insurrection scene ' alone. 

The first 172 lines of the ' insurrection scene ' appear to me more thoroughly 
in the tone of Shakespeare than any other passage in the doubtful plays. There 
is possibly more striking poetry in Edward III and The Two Noble Kinsmen, and 
greater intensity of feeling in parts of Arden of Feversham, but it would be difficult 
or impossible to find, outside the plays of the ordinary canon, any extract of 
similar length which reminds the reader so strongly and lastingly of the special 
peculiarities of Shakespeare's genius. We get something of the familiar ring in 
the very first sentence, Lincoln's appeal to the unruly inob he has gathered 
about him. 

' Lincolne. Peace, heare me : he that will not see a red hearing * at a Herry 
grote, butter at alevenpence a pounde, meale at nyne shillings a bushell, and 
beeff at fower nobles a stone, lyst to me. 

Geo. Belt. Yt will come to that passe, yf straingers be sufferd. Mark him.' 

This, and the speeches that follow inevitably suggest Jack Cade and his 
company in 2 Henry VI. 3 The perception of the individual Shakespearian touch 
grows stronger in the mob's clamorous debate as to whether Shrewsbury, Surrey, 
or More, is to address them a debate decided finally for More with the true mob 
logic of Shakespeare . 

' Doll. Letts heare him : a keepes a plentyfull shrevaltry, and a made my 
brother Arther Watchins Seriant Safes yeoman : lets heare Shreeve Moore. 
All. Shreiue Moor, Moor, More, Shreue Moore ! ' 3 

The speech of More, which follows,* is praised on all hands both for its splendid 
poetry and for its likeness to Shakespeare, but it, as well as the earlier part of 
the scene, must be read in its entirety to be appreciated. The numerous parallels 
of word and phrase with the acknowledged works will not escape the notice of 
any reader. Equally apparent and generally recognized is the similarity to 
Shakespeare's early style in all matters of technique. The bold figurative use 
of words, 5 the rich smoothness of verse, and the total absence of strain or affecta 
tion at the height of poetic intensity, mark these lines as not less Shakespearian 
in metrical quality than any part of The Two Noble Kinsmen or Edward III. 

The top scene of Sir Thomas More, however, exhibits the surest indications 
of Shakespearian authorship just where the claim of all the other doubtful plays 
breaks down ; that is, when we judge it dramatically rather than poetically, 
giving less regard to the manner and more to the matter. The 172 lines in 
question say precisely what we should expect Shakespeare, the man and dramatist, 

1 herring. 2 iv. ii. 3 11. 58-63. 4 11. 80-172. 

5 e.g. ' And you in ruff of your opynions clothe!,' 1. 99. 

' Your noyce 
Hath chidd downe ail the maiestie of Ingland.' 92-3, &c. 


to say ; we have here the same attitude toward the mob half good-natured 
laughter, half seorn and distrust and the same eloquent championship of law 
and order against anarchic tendencies, which appear so consistently throughout 
the genuine works. 

Moreover, the ' insurrection scene ' satisfies fully the almost decisive test ot 
utility. Whereas the so-called Shakespearian portion of Edward III splits the 
play into two irreconcilable halves, and the analogous scenes in The Two Xoble 
Kinsmen seldom touch at all the dramatic crises, which are regularly left to the 
pen of Fletcher, the author of the ' insurrection scene ' in Sir Thomas More has 
turned his attention to the crucial point in the drama, and has revised it in just 
the way which best answers the requirements both of stage effect and of managerial 
prudence. It is not too much to say of this scene, by way of summary, that it 
is exactly the sort of scene we should expect Shakespeare to write, had he been 
called upon to revise the play, full of his well-known sentiments, and expressed 
in a style which is very remarkably like his own during the period 1590-5. 

If these lines are really by Shakespeare, we have a most interesting illustration 
of the method of composition during his early maturity. The frequent interlinea 
tions and substitutions of one phrase for another show how the work took form as 
it proceeded, and make it evident that the sheet of paper on which this scene is 
Avritten in the Harleian MS. contains the author's first draft, set down line by 
line as the passage evolved itself in his brain. In the final version, 11. 132 ff. 
read as follows : 

' Wash your foule mynds with teares. and those same handes, 
That you lyke rebells lyft against the peace, 

Lift vp for peace, and your vnreuerent knees, 134 

Make them your feet to kneele to be forgyven ! 135 

Tell me but this ; what rebell captaine, 
As mutynies ar incident, by his name 
Can still the rout ? ' &c. 

These fine lines were not arrived at without difficulty. In their first form there 
was a pause after ' feet ' in 135, after which the poet wrote : 

' To kneele to be forgyven 
Is safer warrs then euer you can make 

Whose discipline is ryot, why euen your warrs 3 

Cannot proceed but by obedience ; what rebell captaine,' &c. 

This failed to satisfy him and caused him an obvious struggle, before it could 
be remodelled to his taste. First he deleted ' warrs ' at the end of the third line 
and wrote instead ' hurly ', apparently because of the presence of ' warrs ' in 
the preceding line. Then, as a substitute for ' why . . . hurly ' he has written above 
' in in to yr obedience ', which in turn is lined out with all the rest, to be replaced 
by the single half-line, ' Tell me but this.' At the same time, apparently, the 
pause in 123 was shifted from the middle to the end of the line. 

Of the other scenes, possibly written in Hand D, only the soliloquy of More l 

1 m. ii, 11. 1-21. 


and the comic Faulkner passages l seem at all worthy of Shakespeare. They, 
however, may doubtless be attributed to him, without excessive temerity, as 
careless revisionary work, fundamentally similar in style and tone to his genuine 
performances, but naturally more hasty and somewhat less spirited. II. iii, the 
Erasmus part of in. ii, and the whole of in. iii, must be allowed to be decidedly 
un-Shakespearian ; but of the last two of these passages it is quite certain, and 
it is extremely probable of the first, that the person who transcribed them in 
Hand D (?) was not in any real sense their author. The two Erasmus bits of 
in. ii (11. 22-47, and 142-240), and the two Faulkner bits (11. 48-141 and 241-end), 
alternate with each other and are not easily separated. From the scraps of the 
old version of the scene in Hand A, which are still legible, it appears that the 
Erasmus part was largely copied with only casual embellishments by the reviser, 
while the Faulkner part is remodelled and immensely improved. Thus the 
Erasmus passages are basically the work of the original author of the play and 
have been rewritten in Hand D, with merely incidental improvements, because 
they are wedged into the same scene with the Faulkner episode to which the 
reviser gave serious attention. 

The brief and tame Scene 3 of the third act is copied in Hand D (?) verbatim, 
except for the insertion of the single word ' hether ', from the original draft 
written in Hand C just after iv. i. It is clear that scribe C, having added to iv. i 
the final lines 310-68, used the remaining half -sheet of paper for the sketch of 
a much-needed connecting scene between the third act and the fourth. The 
deletions prove the priority of this copy of the scene to that in Hand D(?). 
Line 5, for instance, was first written : ' As sent to tell your lordship of his 
cominge.' Then the first two words were deleted, and the last three replaced 
by ' that they ar at hand ', which later was also scratched out in favour of the 
final reading : ' of ther neer aproche.' Scribe D has merely copied this scene 
in its final form, inserting ' hether ' in line 3 for the sake of the metre, and has 
pasted his copy where the scene obviously belongs at the end of Act III. What 
is certainly true of the Erasmus parts in in. ii, and of in. iii, is in the highest 
degree likely of n. iii, the only other mediocre scene in Hand D (?). Here, too, 
the scribe seems to have been not the author, but merely the theatrical arranger, 
though, from the incomplete state of the MS., it is not possible in this case to 
compare the revised version with the original. 

Setting these scenes aside, then, we are left with the first 172 lines of n. iv, 
and three passages from in. ii (11. 1-21, 48-141, 241-282), all of which are written 
in Hand D (?) and are in large measure composed by the writer. Through these 
three hundred lines we meet the same general characteristics, though they display 
themselves in greater freedom and grandeur in the completely new-cast ' insur 
rection scene ' than in the merely revised and elaborated passages of in. ii. 

When we consider this part of Sir Thomas More in its poetic, and particularly 
in its dramatic and personal aspects, taking into account the play's probable 

1 HI. ii, 11. 48-141, 241-282. 


date and the probable company by which it was acted, it is hardly possible to 
withstand the conviction that if Shakespeare was ever concerned with any of 
the apocryphal plays, then surely it was with this. 

Of the body of the play little need be said, though Sir Thomas More ranks 
high among the productions of its decade. Lack of unity is a defect inherent 
in its style of composition, but the absence of anything like a consecutive plot 
is to some extent atoned for by the effectiveness of More's genial character. 
The really attractive personality of the central figure, and the genuine spirit of 
light-heartedness which inspires even the tragic scenes, are two merits covering 
a multitude of imperfections, and raising Sir Thomas More far above the flatness 
of Oldcastle and Cromwell. In no work of the period do we get a more vivid 
portrayal of the management of an aristocratic household. The dinner to the 
Lord Mayor, the picture of More in the midst of his family circle, and the glimpse 
behind the scenes of a Tudor morality l are charming bits of domesticity which 
it would not be easy to parallel in the range of Elizabethan dramatic literature. 

The main source of the drama is doubtless Hall's Chronicle, from which Dyce 
quotes illustrative excerpts ; however, the story of More's life and death was 
such common property in the reign of Elizabeth that it is unsafe perhaps to 
fix upon any one authority. I have found an account of the fight in Pannier 
Alley, and of the episode of the long-haired Faulkner (in. ii) in Fox's Book of 
Martyrs (ed. 1684, II, 431), where both incidents are related in connexion with 
Thomas Cromwell. The stock account of More's execution, very much as it 
appears in the play, will be found in the same work (II, 294). The authorship 
of Sir Thomas More in its first form has been assigned to Lodge, whose doubtful 
claim is favoured by Fleay and Hopkinson." 

A few words remain to be said regarding the editorial history of the Shake 
speare Apocrypha. Of the fourteen plays here printed, all but the recently 
discovered Sir Thomas More have suffered at the hands of late sixteenth and 
seventeenth-century editors. During the period which began with Kirkman 3 and 
culminated with Malone, Capell, and Steevens, critical energies were engaged here 
as elsewhere, in the well-meant but mischievous task of levelling out grammatical 
archaisms, and normalizing the frequently rough or irregular flow of the lines. 

1 It may be remarked that the play here presented (iv. i) has only its name in 
common with the Marriage of Wit and Wisdom, edited for the Shakespeare Society 
by Halliwell in 1846. The morality of Luggins and his companions is, as Mr. Fleay 
and others have pointed out, a medley of Lusty Juventus and The Disobedient Child. 
The real Mariage of wyt and wisdome appears on the Stationers' Register as the first 
of a list of books transferred from Th. Marshe, deceased, to Th. Orwyn, June 23, 1591. 
Cf. Arber's Transcript, ii, 2756. 

2 Mr. Fleay (Life of Sh., 292-3 ; Biog. Chr. Eng. Dr., ii. 312, 313) identifies Sir 
Thomas More with the play called Abuses, which, we are told, contained a comedy and 
a tragedy, and which was acted by the Children of Paul's before James I and the King 
of Denmark on July 30, 1006. This is a guess pure and simple. 

3 Circa 1600. 


Under this regime, which shows itself almost at its worst in the emendations of 
the modern German critics Delius, Moltke, and Elze, the present plurals in -s, for 
example, and such expressions as ' thou was ' l disappeared, while ' the hugie 
monsters ' of Locrine 2 reappeared as ' the hugest monsters '. At the same time, 
the frequent nine-syllable lines of the originals, and the lines in which words like 
' grace,' ' fear,' ' lord,' were pronounced in two syllables, were made arith 
metically orthodox by the insertion of some colourless monosyllable. Thus in 
Cromivell, 3 instead of the correct old reading, 

4 Well hath your Grace said, my Lord of Norffdke ; 
Therefore let vs presently to Lambeth.' 

we find in Malone's and every succeeding text : 

' Well hath your grace said, my good lord of Norfolk : 
Therefore let us go presently to Lambeth.' 

In the last two acts of this one play thirty-four words have been thus unwarrant 
ably inserted, and the number of omissions is almost as great. 

Only within the last few decades has any attempt been made to purge the 
text of the apocryphal plays of the impurities which all had accumulated during 
the long period of careless or ill-advised editing. Even since the beginning of 
the nineteenth century, edition after edition has reprinted the insipid texts of the 
later quartos and Malone, or has differed only in the incorporation of yet other 
unnecessary emendations. For two hundred years there has not appeared 
a reliable version of Locrine, Mucedorus, Sir John Oldcastle, Thomas Lord Crom 
well, The London Prodigal, The Puritan, or A Yorkshire Tragedy and that, too, 
notwithstanding the fact that all these plays, except Mucedorus, are included in 
the third and fourth Shakespeare folios, and that all of them in their garbled 
form have been many times reprinted. 

The other seven plays have in recent times been edited from the original 
quarto texts, with varying accuracy. Undoubtedly the most valuable of these 
editions are the standard texts of The Two Noble Kinsmen and Sir Thomas Mors, 
by Littledale and Dyce respectively. Arden of Feversham has been carefully 
edited by Mr. Bullen, and, independently, by the indefatigable German scholars, 
Warnke and Proescholdt, to whom we owe also editions of Edward III, The 
Merry Devil of Edmonton, The Birth of Merlin, Fair Em, and Mucedorus. 

The value of the texts by Warnke and Proescholdt differs considerably. 
The earliest, that of Mucedorus, cannot be accepted as a critical edition at all, 
though well provided with apparatus criticus and laboriously prepared. Of the 
many quartos only the eighth has been consulted at first hand, and the editors 
have made the fatal mistake of adopting, as the readings of the first and third * 
quartos respectively, what are in reality the silent emendations of Hazlitt and 

Fair Em, the second of the plays edited by Warnke and Proescholdt, is better 

1 Edward III, i. i. 10G. 2 I. i. 238. 3 iv. v. 115-16. 

* This so-called third quarto of Collier's probably never existed ; cf. p. xxiv. 


done. The spelling is not modernized, as in their text of Mucedorus, and the two 
old quartos have really been collated. Yet numberless small corrections are 
required to render this edition at all authoritative. In some way, which it would 
be difficult to explain, the orthography and variant readings of the two quartos 
have been so mixed that the resultant text gives no faithful representation of 
either. The editors appear to have profited by experience, for they have had 
much more success with the other four plays published by them ; namely, The 
Merry Devil of Edmonton, Edward III, The Birth of Merlin, and Arden of Fever- 
sham. In these editions the text of the earliest quarto is in each case pretty 
faithfully preserved, while the list of variant readings is full and, on the whole, 
exact. As might be expected, in transcribing from the originals a good many 
unintentional deviations in spelling have been made, and occasional errors in 
more important matters require correction. It is to be regretted that conjectural 
emendations by Professor Elze and other modern critics have so frequently been 
admitted into the text without absolute necessity. On the whole, however, these 
editions deserve the favourable opinions they have received on many hands. 


To No. IV of the Bibliography should be added the following : 

44* (p. 451) GAUD, W. S., The Authorship of Locrine, Modern Philology, vol. i, 
pp. 409-22. 

Peele's authorship defended. 

63* (p. 452) NEUBXER, ALFRED, Misftaclrtete Shakcspeare-Dramen. Eine literar- 
hisiorisch-kriiische Untersnchung, Berlin, 1907. 

General discussion of the doubtful plays and of others. 






Who was moftyeickgdlye murdered , by 

tfic meanes of his difloyall and wanton 

Wyf e > wbofor the lone foe bare to one 

Mofbie, hyred two defperat ruf- 

fins Blackwill andShakba?, 

...... e* 

to ktU htm. 

Wherin is (hewed the great mal- 

lice and difcimulation of a wicked worn 

rnaa,thc vnfaci able defire of filthic lull 

and the Oiamefull end of all 


London for Sdward 

White, dwelling at the ly tdc Norch 
dore of Paules Church at 
the flgne of the 

Q 1 = Quarto of 1592 
Q 2 = 1599 
Q 3 = 1633 
J = Jacob, 1770 
T = Tyrrell, 1851 
D = Delius, 1855 
Bull. = Bullen, 1887 
WP = Warnke and Proescholdt, 1888 
Bayne = Temple Dramatists edition, 1897 
pr, ed. = present editor 



j Mr. ARDEN, of Feversham. 
L FRANCKLIN, his friend. 

ii CLARKE, a Painter. 

ADAM FOWLE, Landlord of the Flower -de-Luce. 

BRADSHAW, a Goldsmith. 
IMicHAELL, ARDEN'S Servant. 


BLACK WILL ) ,. , 

SHAKBAG j Murderers 

A Prentice. 

A Ferryman. 

LORD CHEINY, and his Men. 

Mayor of Feversham, and Watch. 

ALICE, Arden's Wife. 
SUSAN, Mosbie's Sister. 

The Scene : FEVERSHAM, LONDON, and there between.} 

(ACT I. 

A Room in Arden's House.} 
Enter Arden, and Francklin. 
Franklin. Arden, cheere vp thy spirits and 

droup no more: 

i vf y gratious Lord, the Duke of Sommerset, 
lath frely giuen to thee and to thy heyres, 
1 ?y letters patents from his Maiesty, 
; ill the lands of the Abby of Feuershame. 5 
leer are the deedes, 
Sealed and subscribed with his name and the 


lead them, and leaue this melancholy moode. 
Arden. Francklin, thy loue prolongs my 

weary lyfe ; 

ind but for thee how odious were this lyfe, 10 
'hat showes me nothing but torments my 


Lnd those foule obiects that offend myne eies! 
Vhich makes me wish that for this vale of 


'he earth hungouer my heede and couerd mee. 
ioue letters past twixt Mosbie and my Wyfe, 15 
nd they haue preuie meetings in the Towne: 
fay, on his finger did I spy the Ring 
Vhich at our Marriage day the Freest put on. 
an any greefe be halfe so great as this? 
Fran. Comfort thy selfe, sweete freend: 
it is not strange 20 

'hat women will be false and wauering. 

Arden. I, but to doat on such a one as hee 
3 monstrous, Francklin, and intolerable. 

Dm ni. Pfraniinr first in T Act I. . . House add. T 
7 One line (jq 15 past Qq : pass null, 18 day 

Francklin. Why, what is he? 

Arden. A Botcher, and no better at the 

first; 25 

Who, by base brocage getting some small 


Crept into seruice of a noble man, 
And by his seruile flattery and fawning 
Is now become the steward of his house, 
And brauely lets it in his silken gowne. 30 
Fran. No noble man will countnaunce such 

a pesant. 
Arden. Yes, the Lord Clifford, he that loues 

not mee. 
But through his fauour let not him grow 


For were he by the Lord Protector backt, 
He should not make me to be pointed at. 35 
I am by birth a gentle man of bloode, 
And that injurious riball, that attempts 
To vyolate my deare wyues chastitie, 
(For deare I holde hir loue, as deare as heauen 
Shall on the bed which he thinks to defile 40 
See his disseuered ioints and sinewes torne, 
Whylst on the planchers pants his weary body, 
Smeard in the channels of his lustfull bloode. 
Fran. Be patient, gentle freend, and learne 

of me 

To ease thy grief e and saue her chastitye: 45 
Intreat her faire; sweete words are fittest 


To race the flint walles of a womans breast. 
In any case be not too Jelyouse, 
Nor make no question of her loue to thee; 
But, as securely, presently take horse, 5 
And ly with me at London all this tearme; 
49 no] a /> 



For women, when they may, will not, 

But, beeing kept back, straight grow out-. 

Arden. Though this abhorres from reason, 

yet ile try it, 

And call her foorth and presently take 
Howl Ales! 

Heere ente(r}s ales. 
Ales. Husband, what meane you to get vp 

so earely? 
Sommer nights are short, and yet you ryse ere 


Had I beene wake, you had not risen so soone. 

Ard. Sweet loue, thou knowst that we two, 

Ouidlike, 6o 

Haue often chid the morning when it gan to 

And often wisht that darke nights purblind 


Would pull her by the purple mantle back, 
And cast her in the Ocean to her loue. 
But this night, sweete Ales, thou hast kild my 
hart: 65 

I heard thee cal on Mosbie in thy sleepe. 
Ales. Tis lyke I was asleepe when I nanvd 

For beeing awake he comes not in my 


Arden. I, but you started vp and suddenly, 

In steede of him, caught me about the necke. 70 

Ales. In steede of him? why, who was 

there but you? 

And where but one is, how can I mistake? 
Fran. Arden, leaue to urdge her ouer- 

Arden. Nay, loue, there is no credit in a 


Let it suffice I know thou louest me well. 75 
Ales. Now I remember where vpon it came : 
Had we no talke of Mosbie yesternight? 
Fra. Mistres Ales, I hard you name him 

once or twice. 
Ales. And thereof came it, and therefore 

blame not me. 

Arden. I know it did, and therefore let it 
passe. 80 

I must to London, sweete Ales, presently. 
Ales. But tell me, do you meane to stay 

there long? 
Ardzn. No longer there till my affaires be 


Fran. He will not stay aboue a month at 

55-6 0t Inlf Qn 
Gl Hanp rhid Bull. 

57 pot vp] rise .9 
67 when nain'il Q " 

50 riso 
08 inl 

Ales. A moneth? aye me! Sweete Arden, 

come againe 85 

Within a day or two, or els I die. 

Arden. I cannot long be from thee, gentle 


Whilest Michel fetch our horses from the field, 
Franklin and I will down vnto the key; 
For I haue certaine goods there to vnload. 90 
Meanewhile prepare our breakfast, gentle Ales; 
For yet ere noone wele take horse and away. 
[Exeunt Arden & Francklin. 
Ales. Ere noone he meanes to take horse 

and away! 
Sweete newes is this. Oh that some ayrie 


Would in the shape and liknes of a horse 95 
Gallope with Arden crosse the Ocean, 
And throw him from his backe into the wauesl 
Sweete Mosbie is the man that hath my hart: 
And he vsurpes it, having nought but this, 
That I am tyed to him by marriage. i oo 

Loue is a God, and manage is but words; 
And therefore Mosbies title is the best. 
Tushe! whether it be or no, he shall be mine, 
In spight of him, of Hymen, and of rytes. 

Here enters Adam of the Flourdeluce. 
And here comes Adam of the flourdeluce: 105 
I hope he brings me tydings of my loue. 
How now, Adam, what is the newes with 


Be not affraid: my husband is now from home. 
Adam. He whome you wot of, Mosbie, 

Mistres Ales, 

Is come to towne, and sends you word by mee 
In any case you may not visit him. 1 1 1 

Ales. Not visit him? 
Adam. No, nor take no knowledge of his 

beeing heere. 

Ales. But tell me, is he angree or dis 

Adam. Should seeme so, for he is won 
drous sad. i '5 
Ales. Were he as mad as rauing Hercules, 
He see him, I, and were thy house of force, 
These hands of mine should race it to the 


Vnles that thou wouldst bring me to my loue. 

Adam. Nay, and you be so impatient, lie 

be gone. ' 20 

Ales. Stay, Adam, stay; thou wert wont to 

be my trend. 

Aske Mosbie how I haue incurred his wrath; 
Beare him from me these paire of siluer dice, 
With which we plaid for kisses many a tyme, 
And when I lost, I wan, and so did hee 1 25 
(Such winning and such losing Joue send me); 


Aci I. 

And bid him, if his loue doo not decline, 
(Ho} come this morning but along my dore, 
And as a stranger but salute me there: 
This may he doo without suspect or feare. 1 30 

Adam. De tell him what you say, and so 
farewell. [Exit Adam. 

Ales. Doo, and one day lie make amends 

for all. 

I know he loues me well, but dares not come, 
Because my husband is so Jelious, 134 

And these my narro-.v prying neighbours blab 
Hinder our meetings when we would conferre. 
But, if I Hue, that block shall be remoued, 
And, Mosbie, thou that comes to me by stelth, 
Shalt neither feare the biting speach of men 
Nor Ardens lookes: as surely shall he die 140 
As I abhorre him and loue onely 

Here enters Michaell. 
How now, Michaell, whether are you going? 

Michael. To fetch my masters nagge. 
I hope youle thinke on mee. 

Ales. I; but, Michaell, see you keepe your 
oath, i 45 

And be as secret as you are resolute. 
Michaell. He see he shall not Hue aboue a 

Ales. On that condition, Michaell, here is 

my hand: 

None shall haue Mosbies sister but thy selfe. 
Michaell. I vnderstand, the Painter heere 
hard by 150 

Hath made reporte that he and Sue is sure. 
Ales. There's no such matter, Michaell; 

beleeue it not. 
Michael. But he hath sent a dagger sticking 

in a hart, 
With a verse or two stollen from a painted 


The which I heere the wench keepes in her 
chest. 155 

Well, let her kepe it: I shall finde a fellow 
That can both write and read and make rime 


And if I doo well, I say no more: 
He send from London such a taunting letter 
As 'she) shall eat the hart he sent with salt 
And fling the dagger at the Painters head. 1 61 
Ales. What needes all this? I say that 

Susan's thine. 
Michaell. Why, then I say that I will kill 

my master, 

Or anything that you will haue me doo. 
Ales. But, Michaell, see you doo it cun 
ningly. 165 

128 To add. Q:} IX, narrow] marrow Ql 141 
onely] none but Q 2 160 she add. D 

Michaell. Why, say I should be tooke, ile 

nere confesse 
That you know any thing; and Susan, being 

a Maide, 

May begge me from the gallous of the Shriefe. 
Ales. Truste not to that, Michaell. 
Michaell You can not tell me, I haue 

seene it, I. z 70 

But, mistres, tell her, whether I Hue or die, 
lie make her more woorth then twenty Pain- 

ters can; 

For I will rid myne elder brother away, 
And then the farme of Bolton is mine owne. 
Who would not venture vpon house and land, 
When he may haue it for a right downe blowe? 

Here enters Mosbie. 

Aleif. Yonder comes Mosbie. Michaell, get 
thee gone, 177 

And let not him nor any knowe thy drifts. 

[Exit Michaell. 
Mosbie, my loue! 

Mosbie. Away, I say, and talke not to me 

now. 1 80 

Ales. A word or two, sweete hart, and 

then I will. 

Tis yet but early daies, thou needest not feare. 
Mosbie. Where is your husband? 
Ales. Tis now high water, and he is at the 


Mos. There let him be; hence forward know 

me not. 1 85 

Ales. Is this the end of all thy solemne 


Is this the frute thy reconcilement buds? 
Haue I for this giuen thee so many fauours, 
Incurd my husbands hate, and, out alas, 
Made shipwrack of myne honour for thy 
sake, 190 

And doest thou say ' hence forward know me 


Remember, when I lockt the in my closet, 
What were thy words and mine; did we not 


Decree to murder Arden in the night? 
The heauens can witnes, and the world can 
tell, 1 95 

Before I saw that falshoode looke of thine, 
Fore I was tangled with thy tysing speach, 
Arden to me was dearer then my soule, 
And shall be still: base pesant, get thee gone, 
And boast not of thy conquest ouer me, 200 
Gotten by witch-craft and meere sorcery! 
For what hast thou to countenaunce my loue, 
Beeing discended of a noble house, 
And matcht already with a gentleman 
174 Bocton J 187 this om. Q3 



Whose seruant thou maist be ? and so 
farewell. 205 

Mos. Vngentle and vnkinde Ales, now I see 
That which I euer feard, and finde too trew: 
A womans loue is as the lightning flame, 208 
Which euen in bursting forth consumes it selfe. 
To trye thy constancie haue I beene strange: 
Would I had neuer tryed, but liued in hope! 
Ales. What needs thou try me whom thou 

neuer found false? 

Mos. Yet pardon me, for loue is Jelious. 
Ales. So list the Sailer to the Marmaids 


So lookes the trauellour to the Basiliske: 215 ; 
I am content for to be reconcilde, 
And that, I know, will be mine ouerthrow. 
Mos. Thine ouerthrow? first let the world 

Ales. Nay, Mosbie, let me still inioye thy 


And happen what will, I am resolute. 220 

My sauing husband hoordes vp bagges of 


To make our children rich, and now is hee 
Oone to vnload the goods that shall be thine, 
And he and Francklin will to London straight. 
Mos. To London, Ales? if thoult de 
by mee, 225 

Weele make him sure enough for comming 


Ales. Ah, would we could. 
Mos. I happend on a Painter yesternight, 
The onely cunning man of Christendoome; 
For he can temper poyson with his oyle, 230 
That who so lookes vpon the worke he drawes 
Shall, with the beames that issue from his 


Suck vennome to his breast and slay him selfe. 
Sweete Ales, he shall draw thy counterfet, 
That Arden may by gaizing on it perish. 235 

Alex. I, but, Mosbie, that is dangerous, 
For thou, or I, or any other els, 
Comming into the Chamber where it hangs, 
May die. 

Mos. I, but weele haue it couered with a 
cloath 240 

And hung vp in the studie for himselfe. 

Ales. It may not be, for when the pictur's 


Arden, I know, will come and shew it me. 
Mos. Feare not; weele haue that shall serve 

the turne. 

This is the painters house: He call him foorth. 
Ales. But, Mosbie, lie haue no such pic 
ture, I. 246 

2H lists Q:J 219 me] him OS 238-0 Om line in ' 247-8 Otic lin< Q</ 2s2 to] fur 
W. ! Q3 281 it OH). C'-V 

Mos. I pray thee leaue it to my discretion. 
How! Clarke! 

Here enters Clarke. 
0, you are an honest man of your word! you 

serud me wel. 

Clark. Why, sir, ile do it for you at any time, 
Prouided, as you haue giuen your worde, 251 
I may haue Susan Mosbie to my wife. 
For, as sharpe witted Poets, whose sweete 

Make heauenly gods break of their Nector 


And lay their eares down to the lowly earth, 
Vse humble promise to their sacred Muse, 256 
So we that are the Poets fauorits 
Must haue a loue; I, Loue is the Painters Muse, 
That makes him frame a speaking counte- 


A weeping eye that witnesses hartes griefe. 

Then tell me, Master Mosbie, shall I haue hir? 

Ales. Tis pittie but he should; heele vse her 

well. 262 

Mosbie. Clarke, beers my hand: my sister 

shall be thine. 

CZa. Then, brother, to requite this curtesie, 

You shall command my lyfe, my skill, and all. 

Ales. Ah, that thou couldst be secret. 266 

Mosbie. Feare him not; leaue, I haue talkt 


Cla. You know not me that ask such ques 

Let it suffice I know you loue him well, 
And faine would haue your husband made 
away: 270 

Wherein, trust me, you shew a noble minde, 
That rather then youle liue with him you hate 
Youle venture lyfe, and die with him you loue. 
The like will I do for my Susans sake. 

Ales. Yet nothing could inforce me to the 
deed 275 

But Mosbies loue. Might I without controll 
Inioy thee still, then Arden should not die: 
But seeing I cannot, therefore let him die. 
Mos. Enough, sweete Ales; thy kinde words 

makes me melt. 

Your tricke of poysoned pictures we dislyke; 
Some other poyson would do better farre. 281 
Ales. I, such as might be put into his broth, 
And yet in taste not to be found at all. 

Clarke. I know your minde, and here I 

haue it for you. 

Put but a dram of this into his drinke, 285 
Or any kinde of broth that he shall eat, 
And he shall die within an houre after. 

271 slicw] btare 


Ac-r I. 

Ales. As I am a gentle -woman, Clarke, 

next day 

Thou and Susan shall be marled. 
Mos. And ile mak her dowry more then ile 

talk of, Clark. 290 

Clarke. Tender's your husband. Mosbie, ile 

be gone. 

Here enters Arden and Francklin. 
Ales. In good time see where my husband 


Maister Mosbie, aske him the question your 
selfe. [Exit Clarke. 

Mos. Maiater Arden, being at London y es 
ter night, 

The Abby lands, whereof you are now possest, 
Were off red me, on some occasion, 296 

By Greene, one of sir Antony Agers men: 
I pray you, sir, tell me, are not the lands yours? 
Hath any other interest herein? 
Arden. Mosby, that question wele decyde 
anon. 300 

Ales, make ready my brekfast, I must hence. 

[Exit Ales. 

As for the lands, mosbie, they are mine 
By letters patents from his Maiesty. 
But I must haue a Mandat for my wyfe; 
They say you seeke to robbe me of her loue: 
Villaine, what makes thou in her company? 306 
Shees no companion for so base a groome. 
Mosbie. Arden, I thought not on her, I 

came to thee; 

But rather then I pocket vp this wrong 
Francklin. What will you doo, sir? 310 
Mos. Reuenge it on the proudest of you 

[Then Arden drawes forth Mosbies sword. 
Arden. So, sirha; you may not weare a 


The statute makes against artificers; 
I warrand that I doo. Now vse your bodkin, 
Your Spanish needle, and your pressing Iron, 
For this shall go with me; and marke my 
words, 316 

You goodman botcher, tis to you I speake: 
The next time that I take thee neare my 


In steede of Legs lie make thee crall on stumps. 
Mos. Ah, maister Arden, you have iniurde 
mee: 320 

I doo appeale to God and to the world. 

Fran. Why, canst thou deny thou wert a 

botcher once? 

Mos. Measure me what I am, not what 
I was. 

2W therein Q :J 
314 doo, now (J 1 

COS from] of Q 3 :JO'J 1 1 ut Q 3 

AT. Why, what art thou now but a Veluet 


A cheating steward, and base minded pesant? 
Mos. Arden, now thou hast belcht and 
vomited 326 

The rancorous venome of thy mis-swolne hart, 
Heare me but speake: as I intend to line 
With God and his elected saints in heauen, 
I neuer meant more to solicit her; 330 

And that she knowes, and all the world shall 


I loued her once, sweete Arden, pardon me, 
I could not chuse, her beauty fyred my hearte; 
But time hath quench't these ouerraging coles: 
And, Arden, though I now frequent thy house, 
Tis for my sisters sake, her waiting maid, 336 
And not for hers. Maiest thou enioy her long: 
Hell fyre and wrathfull vengeance light on me, 
If I dishonor her or iniure thee. 

Ard. Mosbie, with these thy protestations 
The deadly hatred of my hart is appeased, 341 
And thou and Be be freends, if this proue trew. 
As for the base tearmes I gaue thee late, 
Forget them, Mosbie: I had cause to speake, 
When all the Knights and gentlemen of Kent 
Make common table talke of her and thee. 346 
Mos. Who liues that is not toucht with 

slaunderous tongues? 
Fra. Then, Mosbie, to eschew the speache 

of men, 

Upon whose generall brute all honor hangs, 
Forbeare his house. 350 

Ard. Forbeare itl nay, rather frequent it 


The worlde shall see that I distrust her not. 
To warne him on the sudden from my house 
Were too confirme the rumour that is growne. 
Mos. By my faith, sir, you say trew, 355 
And therefore will I soiourne here a while, 
Untill our enemies haue talkt their fill; 
And then, I hope, theile cease, and at last 

How causeles they haue iniurde her and me. 

Ard. And I will ly at London all this tearme 
To let them see how light I wey their words. 361 

Here enters Ales. 
Ales. Husband, sit down; your brekfast 

will be could. 
Ard. Come, Maister) Mosbie, will you sit 

with vs? 

Mos. I can not eat, but ile sit for company. 

Ard. Sirra Michaell, see our horse be ready. 

Ales. Husband, why pause ye? why eat 

you not? 366 

335 now o>. Q3 337 hers, maiest Ql 355 By faith 
my sir Qq S. D. ncic scene T 365 our] your Q S, 3 
I 366 you] yc Q :j 



Ard. I am not well; there something in 

this broth 

That is not holesome: didst thou make it, Ales? 
Ales. I did, and thats the cause it likes not 

Then she throwes down the broth 

on the grounde. 

There nothing that I do can please your taste: 
You were best to say I would haue poysoned 
you. 37i 

I cannot speak or cast aside my eye, 
But he Imagines I haue stept awry. 
Heres he that you cast in my teeth so oft: 
Now will I be conuinced or purge my selfe. 375 
I charge thee speake to this mistrustfull man, 
Thou that wouldst see me hange, thou, 

Mosbye, thou: 

What fauour hast thou had more then a kisse 
At comming or departing from the Towne ? 
Mos. You wrong your selfe and me to cast 
these douts : 38 

Your louing husband is not Jelious. 

Ard. Why, gentle mistres Ales, cannot I 
Be ill, but youle accuse your selfe? 
Franckline, thou, haste ! a boxe of Methri- 

date : 

He take a lytle to preuent the worst. 385 

Fran. Do so, and let vs presently take 


My lyfe for yours, ye shall do well enough. 
Ales. Giue me a spoone, He eat of it my 


Would it were full of poyson to the brim, 
Then should my cares and troubles haue an 
end. 390 

Was euer silly woman so tormented? 
Arden. Be patient, sweete loue; I mistrust 

not thee. 
Ales. God will reuenge it, Arden, if thou 


For neuer woman lou'd her husband better 
Then I do thee. 395 

Ard. I know it, sweete Ales; cease to com - 


Least that in teares I answer thee againe. 
Fran. Come, leaue this dallying, and let vs 

Ales. Forbeare to wound me with that 

bitter word; 

Arden shall go to London in my armes. 400 
Arden. Loth am I to depart, yet I must go. 
Ales. Wilt thou to London, then, and leaue 

me here? 

Ah, if thou loue me, gentle Arden, stay: 
Yet, if thy busines be of great Import, 
Go if thou wilt, He beare it as I may; 405 
382 tndy ill (dd. 394-5 One line Qq 400 mine Q3 

But write from London to me euery weeke, 
Nay, euery day, and stay no longer there 
Then thou must nedes, least that I die for 


Arden. He write vnto thee euery other tide: 
And so farewell, sweete Ales, till we meete next. ' 
Ales. Farewell, Husband, seeing youle haue 
it so; 411 

And, M(aister) Francklin, seeing you take 

him hence, 

In hope youle hasten him home, He giue you 

and then she kisseth him. 
Fran. And if he stay, the fault shall not be 


Mosbie, farewell, and see you keepe your oath. 
Mosbie. I hope he is not Jelious of me 
now. 416 

Arden. No, Mosbie, no: hereafter thinke 

of me 
As of your dearest frend, and so farewell. 

[Exeunt Arden, Franklin, & Michaell. 
Ales. I am glad he is gone ; he was about 

to stay, 

But did you marke me then how I brake of? 
Mosbie. I, Ales, and it was cunningly per 
formed. 421 
But what a villain e is this painter Clarke! 
Ales. Was it not a goodly poyson that he 


Why, he's as well now as he was before. 
It should haue bene some fine confection 425 
That might haue giuen the broth some daintie^ 


This powder was to grosse and populos. 
Mosbie. But had he eaten but three spoone- 

fulles more, 

Then had he died and our loue continued. 
Ales. Why, so it shall, Mosbie, albeit he 
liue. 43 

Mosbie. It is vnpossible, for I haue sworne 
Neuer hereafter to solicite thee, 
Or, whylest he liues, once .more importune 


Ales. Thou shalt not neede, I will impor 
tune thee. 

What? shall an oath make thee forsake my 
loue? 435 

As if I haue not sworne as much my selfe 
And giuen my hand vnto him in the church! 
Tush, Mosbie; oathes are wordes, and words 

is winde, 

And winde is mutable: then, I conclude, 
Tis childishnes to stand vpon an oath. 4 4 

409 other om. <?3 417 of] on QV 418 of .>. </:t 
427 populos] palpable D, later retracted 430 so . . 
shall 01/1. Q3 




Mos. Well, proued, Mistres Ales; yet by 

your leaue 

He keepe mine vnbroken whilest he Hues. 
Ales. I, doo, and spare not, his time is but 


For if thou beest as resolute as I, 
Weele haue him murdered as he walkes the 

streets. 445 

In London many alehouse Ruffins keepe, 
Which, as I heare, will murther men for gould. 
They shall be soundly feed to pay him home. 

Here enters Greene. 

Mos. Ales, whats he that comes yonder? 

knowest thou him? 

Ales. Mosbie, be gone: I hope tis one that 
comes 450 

To put in practise our intended drifts. 

[Exit Mosbie. 

Gre. Mistres Arden, you are well met. 
I am sorry that your husband is from home, 
When as my purposed iourney was to him: 
Yet all my labour is not spent in vaine, 455 
For I suppose that you can full discourse 
And flat resolue me of the thing I seeke. 
Ales. What is it, maister Greene? If that 

I may 
Or can with safety, I will answer you. 

Greene. I heard your husband hath the 
grant of late, 460 

Confirmed by letters patents from the king, 
Of all the lands of the Abby of Feuershame, 
Generally intitled, so that all former grants 
Are cut of; whereof I my selfe had one, 
But now my interest by that is void. 465 

This is all, mistres Arden; is it trew or no? 
Ales. Trew, maister Greene; the lands are 

his in state, 

And whatsoeuer leases were before 
Are void for tearme of Maister Ardens lyfe; 
He hath the grant vnder the Chancery seale. 
Gre. Pardon me, mistres Arden, I must 
speake, 471 

For I am toucht. Your husband doth me wrong 
To wring me from the little land I haue: 
My liuing is my lyfe, onely that 
Resteth remainder of my portion. 475 

Desyre of welth is endles in his minde, 
And he is gredy gaping still for gaine, 
Nor cares he though young gentlemen do 


So he may scrape and hoorde vp in his poutche. 
But, seeing he hath taken my lands, lie value 
lyfe 480 

As careles as he is carefull for to get: 

400 had CM ;>, :j 400 

448ie<l Qq 449 him ow. <J :i 
r] iior Q 1 408 were om. fy :i 

And tell him this from me, De be reuenged, 
And so as he shall wishe the Abby lands 
Had rested still within their former state. 

Ales. Alas, poore gentleman, I pittie you, 
And wo is me that any man should want; 486 
God knowes tis not my fault: but wonder not 
Though he be harde to others, when to me, 
Ah, maister Greene, God knowes how I am 

Gre. Why, mistres Arden, can the crabbed 

churle 490 

Vse you vnkindely? respects he not your birth, 
Your honorable freends, nor what you 

Why, all Kent knowes your parentage and 

what you are. 
Ales. Ah, M(aister) Greene, be it spoken in 

secret heere, 

I neuer liue good day with him alone: 495 
When hee is at home, then haue I froward 

Hard words and blowes, to mend the match 


And though I might content as good a man, 
Yet doth he keepe in euery corner trull es; 
And, weary with his trugges at home, sod 
Then rydes he straight to London; there, for 


He reuelles it among such filthie ones 
As counsels him to make away his wyfe. 
Thus liue I dayly in continuall feare, 
In sorrow, so dispairing of redres 505 

As euery day I wish with harty prayer 
That he or I were taken forth the worlde. 
Gre. Now trust me, mistres Ales, it greeueth 


So faire a creature should be so abused. 
Why, who would haue thought the ciuill sir 

so sollen? 510 

He lookes so smoothly: now, rye vpon him, 

Churle I 

And if he liue a day, he liues too long. 
But frolick, woman, I shall be the man 
Shall set you free from all this discontent; 
And if the Churle deny my intereste S'S 

And will not yelde my lease into my hand, 
De paye him home, what euer hap to me. 
Ales. But speake you as you thinke? 
Gre. I, Gods my witnes, I meane plaine 


For I had rather die then lose my land. 5 2 
Ales. Then, maister Greene, be counsailed 

by me: 

Indaunger not your selfe for such a Churle, 
But hyre some Cutter for to cut him short, 
And beer's ten pound to wager them withall; 

603 counsell Q 3 
9 63 



When he is dead, you shall haue twenty more, 
And the lands whereof my husband is possest 
Shall be intytled as they were before. 527 

Gre. Will you keepe promise with me? 

Ales. Or count me false and periurde whilst 
I line. 

Gre. Then heeres my hand, He haue him 
so dispatcht. 53 

He vp to London straight, He thether poast, 
And neuer rest til I haue compast it: 
Till then farewell. 

Ales. Good Fortune follow all your forward 
thoughts, [Exit Grene. 

And whosoeuer doth attempt the deede, 535 
A happie hand I wish, and so farewell. 
All this goes well: Mosbie, I long for thee 
To let thee know all that I haue contriued. 

Here enters Mosbie & Clarke. 
Mos. How now, Ales, whats the newes? 
Ales. Such as wUl content thee well, sweete 
hart. 540 

Mos. Well, let them passe a while, and tell^ 

me, Ales, 
How haue you dealt and tempered with my 

What, will she haue my neighbour Clarke, or 

Ales. What, M;aister) Mosbie! let him 

wooe him self: 

Thinke you that maides looke not for faire 

wordes? 545 

Go to her, Clarke; shees all alone within; 

Michaell my man is cleane out of her bookes. 

Clarke. I thanke you, mistres Arden, I will 


And if faire Susan and I can make a gree, 
You shall command me to the vttermost, 550 
As farre as either goods or lyfe may streatch. 

[Exit Clark. 

Mos. Now, Ales, lets heare thy newes. 
Ales. They be so good that I must laugh 

for ioy, 
Before I can begin to tell my tale. 

Mos. Lets heare them, that I may laugh 

for company. 555 

Ales. This morning, M ^aister) Greene, dick 

greene I meane, 

From whome my husband had the Abby land, 
Came hethcr, railing, for to know the trueth 
Whether my husband had the lands by grant. 
I tould him all, where at he stormd amaine 
And swore he would cry quittance with the 
Churle, 561 

And, if he did denye his enterest, 
Stabbe him, whatsoeuer did befall him selfe. 
549 make agree Q 3 

When as I sawe his choller thus to rise, 
I whetted on the gentleman with words; 565 
And, to conclude, Mosbie, at last we grew 
To composition for my husbands death. 
I gaue him ten pound to hire knaues, 
By some deuise to make away the Churle; 
When he is dead, he should haue twenty more 
And repossesse his former lands againe. 571 
On this we greed, and he is ridden straight 
To London, to bring his death about. 

Mos. But call you this good newes? 

Ales. I, sweete hart, be they not? 575 

Mos. Twere cherefull newes to hear the 

churle wer dead; 

But trust me, Ales, I take it passing ill 
You would be so forgetfull of our state 
To make recount of it to euery groome. 
What? to acquaint each stranger with our 
drifts, 580 

Cheefely in case of murther, why, tis the way 
To make it open vnto Ardens selfe 
And bring thy selfe and me to ruine both. 
Forewarnde, forearmde: who threats hia 
enemye, 585 

Lends him a sword to guarde himself e with all. 

Ales. I did it for the best. 

Mos. Well, seing tis don, cherely let it pas. 
You know this Greene: is he not religious, 
A man, I gesse, of great deuotion? 

Ales. He is. 590 

Mos. Then, sweete Ales, let it pas : I 

haue a dryft 
Will quyet all, what euer is amis. 

Here enters Clarke and Susan. 
Ales. How now, Clarke? haue you found 

me false? 

Did I not plead the matter hard for you? 
Clarke. You did. 595 

M os. And what? Wilt be a match? 
Clarke. A match, I faith, sir: I, the day is 


The Painter layes his cullours to the lyfe, 
His pensel draws no shadowes in his loue. 
Susan is mine. 600 

Ales. You make her bluslie. 
Mos. What, sister, is it Clarke must be the 

S. It resteth in your graunt; some words 

are past, 

And happely we be growne vnto a match, 
If you be willing that it shall be so. 605 

Mos. Ah, maister Clarke, it resteth at my 


You see my sister's yet at my dispose. 
But, so youle graunt me one thing I shall aske, 

687 cheerefully Q3 691 sweete Ales om. (j u 


ACT II, Sc. I. 

I am content my sister shall be yours. 

Clark. What is it, M aister) Mosbie? 610 

Mos. I doo remember once in secret talke 

You tould me how you could compound by 


A crucifix impoysoned, 

That who so looke vpon it should waxe blinde 
And with the sent be stif eled, that ere long 61 5 
He should dye poysond that did view it wel. 
I would haue you make me such a crucifix, 
And then lie grant my sister shall be yours. 
Cla. Though I am loath, because it touch- 

eth lyfe, 

Yet, rather or lie leaue sweete Susans loue, 
He do it, and with all the haste I may. 621 
But for whome is it? 

Ales. Leaue that to vs. Why, Clarke, is it 

That you should paint and draw it out your 


The cullours beeing balefull and impoysoned, 
And no waies preiudice your selfe with all? 626 
Mos. Well questioned, Ales: Clarke, how 

answer you that? 

Clarke. Very easily: He tell you straight 
How I doo worke of these Impoysoned drugs. 
I fasten on my spectacles so close 630 

As nothing can any way offend my sight; 
Then, as I put a leafe within my nose, 
So put I rubarbe to auoid the smell, 
And softly as another worke I paint. 
Mos. Tis very well; but against when shall 
I haue it? 635 

Cla. Within this ten dayes. 
Mos. Twdl serue the turne. 

Now, Ales, lets in and see what cheere you 


I hope, now M(aister) Arden is from home, 
Youle giue me leaue to play your husbands 


Ales. Mosbie, you know, whose maister of 
my hart, 640 

He well may be the master of the house. 


(ACT H. 

Country between Fevcrsham and London.} 
Here enters Greene and Bradshaw. 

Brad. See you them that corns yonder, 
M ^aister) Greene? 

Gren. I, very well: doo you know them? 
Here enters Blacke Will and Shakebagge. 

Wo 11,.] I Q3 (>25 TIIO 1 1 in.-- <,>',, dit. (if In- Ales 036 
Tiro lines <Jq Act II. tic. add. I 

Brad. The one I khowe not, but he seemes 

a knaue 

| Cheefly for bearing the other company; 
| For such a slaue, so vile a roge as he, 5 

I Lyues not againe vppon the earth. 
Black-will is his name. I tell you, M(aister 


At Bulloine he and I were fellow souldiers, 
WhereTie plaid such prankes, 
As all the Campe feard him for his villany: 10 
I warrant you he beares so bad a minde 
That for a croune heele murther any man. 

Ore. The fitter is he for my purpose, 

Witt. How now, fellow Bradshaw? Whe 
ther away so earely? 

Brad. Will, times are changed: no fel 
lows now, 15 
Though we were once together in the field; 
Yet thy freend to doo thee any good I can. 

Will. Why, Bradshawe, was not thou and 
I Fellow -souldiers at Bulloine, wher I was a 
corporall and thou but a base mercenarye 
groome? No fellowes now! because you are 
a gouldsmith and haue a lytle plate in your 
shoppe! You were gladde to call me ' fellow 
Will ', and with a cursy to the earth ' One 
snatch, good corporall ', when I stole the half e 
Oxe from John the vitler, and domineer'd with 
it amongst good feiiowes in one night. ^^ 

Brad. I, Will, those dayes are past with me. 

Will. I, but they be not past with me, for 
I kepe that same honorable mind still. Good 
neighbour Bradshaw, you are too proude to 
be my fellow; but were it not that I see more 
company comming down the hill, I would be 
fellowes with you once more, and share 
Crownes with you to. But let that pas, and 
tell me whether you goe. 3 6 

Brad. To London, Will, about a peece of 

Wherein happely thou maist pleasure me. 

Witt. What is it? 

Brad. Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate, 
Which one did bring and soulde it at my shoppe, 
Saying he serued sir Antony Cooke. 42 

A search was made, the plate was found with 


And I am bound to answer at the syse. 
Now, Lord Cheiny solemnly vowes, 45 

If law will serue him, hele hang me for his 


Now I am going to London vpon hope 
To finde the fellow. Now, Will, I know 
Thou art acquainted with such companions. 

14 Tim Itiits (Jq 18-27 Ytrtse tyq, con: W 



Will. What manner of man was he? 50 
Brad. A leane faced writhen knaue, 
Hauke nosde and verye hollow eied, 
With mighty e furrowes in his stormye browes; 
Long haire down his shoulders curled; 54 
His Chinne was bare, but on his vpper lippe 
A mutchado, which he wound about his eare. 
WOL What appareU had he? 
Brad. A watchet sattin doublet all to torne, 
The inner side did beare the greater show; 
A paire of threed-bare Veluet hose, seame rent, 
A wosted stockin rent aboue the shoe, 61 

A liuery cloake, but all the lace was of; 
Twas bad, but yet it serued to hide the plate. 
Will. Sirra Shakebagge, canst thou remem - 
ber since we trould the boule at Sittingburgh, 
where I broke the Tapsters head of the Lyon 
with a Cudgill-sticke? 67 

Shak. I, very well, Will. 
Will. Why, it was with the money that the 
plate was sould for. Sirra Bradshaw, what 
wilt thou giue him that can telle thee who 
soulde thy plate? 72 

Brad. Who, I pray thee, good Will? 
Will. Why, twas one Jacke Fitten. He's 
now in Newgate for stealing a horse, and shall 
be arrainde the next sise. 76 

Brad. Why, then let Lord Cheiny seek Jack 

Fitten forth, 
For He backe and tell him who robbed him of 

his plate. 
This cheer es my hart; M aister, Greene, He 

leaue you, 
For I must to the lie of Sheppy with speede. 80 

Greene. Before you go, let me intreat you 
To carry this letter to mistres Arden of Feuers- 


And humbly recommend me to her self e. 
Brad. That will I, M(aister) Grene, and so 
farewell. 84 

Heere, Will, theres a Crowne for thy good 
newes. [Exit Bradshawe. 

W.iU. Farewell, Bradshaw; Be drinke no 
water for thy sake whilest this lasts. Now, 
gentleman, shall we haue your company to 

Gre. Nay, stay, sirs: 90 

A lytle more I needs muste vse your helpe, 
And in a matter of great consequence, 
Wherein if youle be secret and profound, 
He giue you twenty Angels for your paines. 94 
Will. How? twenty Angells? giue my fel 
low George shakbag and me twenty Angels? 
And if thoult haue thy owne father slaine, 

53 his om. Q3 54 his] to his 03 64-7, 69-72. 74-f>. 
86-9, 95-9 Verse Qri 65 Sittiugburne 03 etc. 66 of] 
at y 3 78 He] lie goe Q 3 90-1 One line Qq 

that thou mayst inherit his land, weele kill 

Shak. I, thy Mother, thy sister, thy brother, 
or all thy kin. 100 

Gre. Well, this it is: Arden of Feuershame 
Hath highly wrongd me about the Abby land, 
That no reuendge but death will serue the 

Will you two kill him? heeres the Angels 

And I will lay the platforme of his death. 105 

Will. Plat me no platform es; giue me the 
money, and ile stab him as he stands pissing 
against a wall but He kill him. 

Sha. Where is he? 

Greene. He is now at London, in Aldersgate 
streete. no 

Shak. He's dead as if he had beene con 
demned by an act of parliament, if once Black 
Will and I sweare his death. 

Gre. Here is ten pound, and when he is 

Ye shall haue twenty more. 1 1 5 

Will. My fingers itches to be at the pesant. 
Ah, that I might be set a worke thus through 
the yeere, and that murther would grow to an 
occupation, that a man might without daunger 
of law : zounds, I warrant I should be 
warden of the company. Come, let vs be 
going, and wele bate at Rochester, where Ile 
! giue thee a gallon of Sack to hansell the match 
with all. [Exeunt. 

(SCENE n. 

London. A Street near St. Pauls.} 
Here enters Michael. 

Mich. I haue gotten suche a letter as will 
touche the Painter: and thus it is: 

Here enters Arden and Francklin and heares 

Michaell read this letter. 
" My duetye remembred, Mistres Susan, hop 
ing in God you be in good health, as / Michaell 
was at the making heereof. This is to certifte 
you that as the Turtle true, when she hath lost 
her mate, sitleth alone, so /, mourning for your- 
absence, do walk vp and down Poules til one 
day 1 fell a sleepe and lost my maisters Panto- 
phelles. Ah, mistres Susan, abbolishe that 
paltry Painter, cut him off by the shinnes with 
a frowning looke of your crabed countenance, 
& think vpon Michaell, who, druncke with the 
dregges of your fauour, wil cleaue as fast to 

117 a] at QH 

106-8. 111-13. 116-24 Vtrite Qq 
Scene II. etc. add. T 1, 2 Vtrse Qq 



ACT II, Sc. II. 

your lone as a plaster of Pitch to a guld horse 
back. Thus hoping you will let my passions 
penetrate, or rather impetrate mercy of your 
meeke hands, I end. 

Yours, Michaell, or els not Michaell. 

Ard. Why, you paltrie knaue, 20 

Stand you here loytering, knowing my affaires, 
What haste my busines craues to send to Kent? 

Fran. Faith, frend Michaell, this is very 


Knowing your maister hath no more but you, 
And do ye slacke his busines for your owne? 25 

Ard. Where is the letter, sirra? let me see 

Then he giues him the letter. 
See, maister Francklin, heres proper stuff e: 
Susan my maid, the Painter, and my man, 
A crue of harlots, all in loue, forsooth; 
Sirra, let me heare no more of this. 30 

Now for thy lyfe once write to her a wordel 

Here enters Grene, Will, and Shakebag. 
, Wilt thou be married to so base a trull? 
Tis Mosbies sister: come I once at home, 
He rouse her from remaining in my house. 
Now, M(aister) Francklin, let vs go walke in 
Paules; 35 

. Come but a turne or two, and then away. 


Gre. The first is Arden, and thats his man, 
ie other is Francklin, Ardens dearest freend. 
Will. Zounds, He kill them all three. 
Gre. Nay, sirs, touch not his man in any 
case; 4 

But stand close, and take you fittest standing, 
And at his comming foorth speede him: 
To the Nages head, ther' is this cowards haunt. 
, But now He leaue you till the deed be don. 

[Exit Greene. 

Sha. If he be not paid his owne, nere trust 
shakebagge. 45 

Wil. Sirra Shakbag, at his comming foorth 
le runne him through, and then to the black - 


Ind there take water and away. 
Sha. Why, thats the best; but see thou 

misse him not. 

Wil. How can I misse him, when I thinke 
on the forty e Angels I must haue more? 51 

Here enters a prentise. 
Prentise. Tis very late; I were best shute 

vp my stall, 
For heerc will be ould filching, when the presse 
^omes foorth of Paules. 

Then lettes he downs his window, and it breaks 

Black Wils head. 

Wil. Zounds, draw, Shakbag, draw, I am 
almost kild. 55 

Pren. Wele tame you, I warrant. 
Wil. Zounds, I am tame enough already. 

Here enters Arden, Fran., & Michael. 
Ard. What trublesome fray or mutany is 

Fran. 'Tis nothing but some brabling paltry 


Deuised to pick mens pockets in the throng. 60 

Ard. 1st nothing els? come, Franklin, let 

TS away. [Exeunt. 

Wil. What mends shal I haue for my 

broken head? 

Pren. Mary, this mends, that if you get 
you not away all the sooner, you shall be well 
beaten and sent to the counter. 65 

[Exit prentise. 

Wil. Well, He be gone, but looke to your 
signes, for He pull them down all. Shakbag, 
my broken head greeues me not so much as 
by this meanes Arden hath escaped. 

Here enters Greene. 

I had a glimse of him and his companion. 70 
Gre. Why, sirs, Arden's as wel as I; I met 
him and Francklin going merrilly to the ordi 
nary. What, dare you not do it? 73 
Wil. Yes, sir, we dare do it; but, were my 
consent to giue againe, we would not do it 
vnder ten pound more. I value euery drop of 
I my blood at a french Crowne. I haue had ten 
! pound to steale a dogge, and we have no more 
i heere to kill a man; but that a bargane is a' 
bargane, and so foorth, you should do it your 
1 selfe. 8 1 
Gre. I pray thee, how came thy head broke? 
Witt. Why, thou seest it is broke, dost thou 
! not? 

Sha. Standing against a staule, watching 
Ardens comming, a boy let down his shop- 
window and broke his head; wherevpon arose 
a braul, and in the tumult Arden escapt vs 
and past by vnthought on. But forberance is 
no acquittance; another time wele do it, I 
warrant thee. 9 1 

Gre. I pray thee, will, make cleane thy 

bloodie brow, 

And let vs bethink vs on some other place 
Where Arden may be met with handsomly. 
Remember how deuoutly thou hast sworne 95 
To kill the villaine; thinke vpon thyne oath. 

25 for o>. <?.? :U Xow O.y : Nor Jdr. S4 from] .Vi draw, I] I Q3 63-91 Verse 
for Q!} 41 you] your Q.I 43 this om. Qi} Q3 


74 Yes, sir, sir 


Will. Tush, I haue broken fiue hundred 


But wouldst thou charme me to effect this dede, 
Tell me of gould, my resolutions fee; 
Say thou seest Mosbie kneeling at my knees, 
Off ring me seruice for my high attempt, 101 
And sweete Ales Arden, with a lap of crownes, 
Comes with a lowly cursy to the earth, 
Saying ' take this but for thy quarterige, 
Such yeerely tribute will I answer thee.' 105 ' 
Why, this would steale soft metled cowardice, 
With which black Will was neuer tainted with. 
I tell thee, Greene, the forlorne trauailer, 
Whose lips are glewed with sommers parching 


Nere longd so much to see a running brooke 
As I to finish Ardens Tragedy. m 

Seest thou this goare that cleaueth to my face? 
From hence nere will I wash this bloody staine, 
Til Ardens hart be panting in my hand. 

Gre. Why, thats wel said; but what saith 

shakbag? "5 

Shak. I cannot paint my valour out with 


But, giue me place and opportunitie, 
Such mercy as the stamen Lyones, 
When she is dry suckt of her eager young, 
Showes to the pray that next encounters her, 
On Arden so much pitty would I take. 1 21 
Gre. So should it faire with men of firme 


And now, sirs, seeing this accident 
Of meeting him in Paules hath no successe, 
Let vs bethinke vs on some other place 125 
Whose earth may swallow vp this Ardens 


Here enters Michaell. 

Se, yonder comes his man: and wat you what? 
The foolish knaue is in loue with Mosbies 


And for her sake, whose loue he cannot get 
Unlesse Mosbie solicit his sute, 130 

The villaine hath sworne the slaughter of his 

Weele question him, for he may stead vs 

How now, Michael, whether are you going? 

Mic. My maister hath new supt, 
And I am going to prepare his chamber. 135 
Gre. Where supt M Bister) Arden? 
Mic. At the Nages head, at the 18 pence 
ordinarye. How now, M(aister) Shakbag? 
what, Black Wil! Gods deere lady, how 
chaunce your face is so bloody? 1 40 

107 tainted "with Qq: tainted yet J tic. 119 her 
om. Q3 125 on Q 

Wil. Go too, sirra, there is a chaunce in it: 

This sawcines in you wil make you be knockt. 

Mic. Nay, and you be offended, ile be gone. 

Gre. Stay, michael, you may not scape vs 


Michael, I knowe you loue your M'aister) wel. 

Mic. Why, so I dt>; but wherefore vrdge 

you that? 146 

Gre. Because I thinke you loue your mistres 

(Mic.) So think not I; but say, yfaith, 

what, if I should? 
Shak. Come to the purpose, Michael; we 


You haue a pretty loue in Feuershame. 130 
Mic. Why, haue I two or three, whats that 

to thee? 
Wil. You deale to mildely with the pesant. 

Thus it is: 

Tis knowne to vs you loue mosbies sister; 
We know besides that you haue tane your oath 
To further Mosbie to your mistres bed, 1 55 
And kill your M(aister) for his sisters sake. 
Now, sir, a poorer coward then your selfe 
Was neuer fostered in the coast of Kent: 
How comes it then that such a knaue as you 
Dare sweare a matter of such consequence? 
Gre. Ah, will 161 

Will. Tush, giue me leaue, thers no more 

but this: 

Sith thou hast sworne, we dare discouer all; 
And hadst thou or shouldst thou vtter it, 
We haue deuised a complat vnder hand, 165 
What euer shall betide to any of vs, 
To send thee roundly to the diuell of hell. 
And therefore thus: I am the very man, 
Markt in my birth howre by the destynies, 
To giue an end to Ardens lyf e on earth; 1 70 
Thou but a member but to whet the knife 
Whose edge must search the closet of hia 


Thy office is but to appoint the place 
And traine thy M aister/ to his tragedy; 
Myne to performe it when occasion serues. 175 
Then be not nice, but here deuise with vs 
How and what way we may conclude his 

Sha. So shalt thou purchase Mosbie for thy 

And by his frendship gaine his sisters loue. 

Gre. So shal thy mistres be thy fauorer, 180 

And thou disburdned of the oath thou made. 

Mic. Wel, gentlemen, I cannot but con- 

Sith you haue vrdged me so aparantly, 

142 be OIH. Q , .9 148 CHrfn to Grftm in (> 1 M 
feewaeQ.1 l. thenow. Q3 


ACT III, Sc. I. 

That I haue vowed my M(aister) Ardens 

death ; 

And he whose kindly loue and liberall hand 185 
Doth challenge naught but good deserts of me, 
I wil delyuer ouer to your hands. 
This night come to his house at Aldersgate: 

And cooch dishonor as dishonor buds, 5 

Might ioyne repentaunce in her wanton 


No question then but she would turn the leafe 
And sorrow for her desolution; 
But she is rooted in her wickednes, 9 

The dores He leaue vnldckt against you come. Peruerse and stobburne, not to be reclaimde; 

No sooner shall ye enter through the latch, 190 
Ouer the thresholds to the inner court, 
But on your left hand shall you see the staires 
That leads directly to my M aisters chamber : 
There take him and dispose him as ye please. 
Now it were good we parted company; 195 
What I haue promised, I will performe. 

Wil. Should you deceiue vs, twould go 
wrong with you. 

Mic. I will accomplish al I haue reuealde. 

Wil. Come, let's go drinke: choller makes 
me as drye as a dog. 200 

Exeunt Will, Ore., and Shak. Manet Michaell. 

Mic. Thus feedes the Lambe securely on 

the downe, 

Whilst through the thicket of an arber brake' 
The hunger bitten Woulfe orepryes his hant 
And takes aduantage to eat him vp. 
Ah, harmeles Arden, how, how hast thou mis - 

done, 205 

That thus thy gentle lyfe is leueld at? 
The many good turnes that thou hast don to 


Now must I quitance with betraying thee. 
I that should take the weapon in my hand 
And buckler thee from ill intending foes, 210 
Do lead thee with a wicked fraudfull smile, 
As vnsuspected, to the slaughterhouse. 
So haue I sworne to Mosby and my mistres, 
So haue I promised to the slaughtermen; 
And should I not deale currently with them, 2 1 5 
Their lawles rage would take reuenge on me. 
Tush, I will spurne at mercy for this once: 
Let pittie lodge where feeble women ly, 
I am resolued, and Arden needs must die. 

[Exit Michaell. 

(ACT m. 


A Room in Francklin's House, at Aldersgate.} 

Here enters Arden & Fran. 
Arden. No, Francklin, no: if feare or 

stormy threts, 

If loue of me or care of womanhoode, 
If feare of God or common speach of men, 
Who mangle credit with their wounding words, 

Good counsell is to her as raine to weedes, 
And reprehension makes her vice to grow 
As Hydraes head that flourisht by decay. 
Her faults, me thinks, are painted in my face, 
For euery searching eye to ouerreede; 15 

And Mosbies name, a scandale vnto myne, 
Is deeply trenched in my blushing brow. 
Ah, Francklin, Francklin, when I think on 


My harts greefe rends my other powers 19 
Worse then the conflict at the houre of death. 

Fran. Gentle Arden, leaue this sad lament: 
She will amend, and so your greefes will cease; 
Or els shele die, and so your sorrows end. 
If neither of these two do happely fall, 
Yet let your comfort be that others beare 25 
Your woes, twice doubled all, with patience. 

Ard. My house is irksome, there I cannot 

Fra. Then stay with me in London, go not 

Ard. Then that base Mosbie doth vsurpe 

my roome 

And makes his triumphe of my beeing thence. 
At home or not at home, where ere I be, 31 
Heere, heere it lyes, ah Francklin, here it lyes 
That wil not out till wretched Arden dies. 

Here enters Michaell. 

Fra. Forget your greefes a while; heer 
corns your man. 

Ard. What a Clock ist, sirra? 35 

Mic. Almost ten. 

Ard. See, see, how runnes away the weary 


Come, M'^aister) Franklin, shal we go to bed? 
\Exeunt Arden & Michaell. 
[Manet Francklin. 

Fran. I pray you, go before : Defollow you . 
Ah, what a hell is fretfull Jelousiel 40 
What pitty mouing words, what deepe fetcht, 

What greeuous grones and ouerlading woes 
Accompanies this gentle gentleman! 
Now will he shake his care oppressed head, 
Then fix his sad eis on the sollen earth, 45' 
Ashamed to gaze vpon the open world; 

204 to] for to T 207 that oni. 3 
M.QS Act III. etc. add. T 

5 couch 3 : crop D 
211 wicked ! (?</: plenisht WP 
moiling Q 1 


13 flourisht cnnj. D : perisht 
14 think Ql: thinke Q3 41 


Now will he cast his eyes vp towards the hea- 


Looking that waies for redresse of wrong: 
Some times he seeketh to beguile his griefe 
And tels a story with his carefull tongue; 50 
Then comes his wiues dishonor in his thoughts 
And in the middle cutteth of his tale, 
Powring fresh sorrow on his weary lima. 
So woe begone, so inlye charged with woe, 
Was neuer any lyued and bare it so. 55 

Here enters Michaell. 

M ic. My M(aister) would desire you come 
to bed. 

Fra. Is he himselfe already in his bed? 

[Exit Fran. Manet Mic. 

Mic. He is, and faine would haue the light 


Conflicting thoughts, incamped in my brest, 
Awake me with the Echo of their strokes, 60 
And I, a iudge to censure either side, 
Can giue to neither wished victory. 
My masters kindnes pleads to me for lyfe 
With iust demaund, and I must grant it him: 
My mistres she hath forced me with an oath, 65 
For Susans sake, the which I may not breake, 
For that is nearer then a masters loue: 
That grim faced fellow, pittiles black Will, 
And Shakebag, stearne in bloody stratageme, 
Two Ruffer Ruffins neuer liued in Kent, 70 
Haue sworne my death, if I inf rindge my vow, 
A dreadfull thing to be considred of. 
Me thinks I see them with their bolstred haire 
Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, 
And in their ruthles hands their clagers drawne, 
Insulting ore thee with a peck of oathes, 76 
Whitest thou submissiue, pleading for releefe, 
Art mangled by their irefull instruments. 
Me thinks I heare them aske where Michaell is, 
And pittiles black Will cryes: ' Stab the slauq! 
The Pesant will detect the Tragedy 1 ' OT 

The wrincles in his f owle death threatning face 
Gapes open wide, lyke graues to swallow men. 
My death to him is but a merryment, 
And he will murther me to make him sport. 
He comes, he comes! ah, M(aister) Francklin, 
helpe! 86 

Call vp the neighbors, or we are but dead! 

Here enters Fran. & Arden. 

Fran. What dismall outcry cals me from 

my rest? 
Ard. What hath occasiond such a fearefull 


Speake, Michaell : hath any iniurde thee? 90 

Mic. Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleepe, 

70 thee Q 3 : there Q 1, 86 ah om. (} :i 

Vpon the thresholde leaning to the staires, 
I had a fearefull dreame that troubled me, 
And in my slumber thought I was beset 94 ; 
With murtherer theeues that came to rifle me. 
My trembling ioints witnes my inward feare: j 
I craue your pardons for disturbing you. 
Ard. So great a cry for nothing I nere 

What? are the doores fast lockt and al things 

Mic. I cannot tel; I think I lockt the i 

doores. 100 

Ard. I like not this, but He go see my ! 


Nere trust me but the dores were all vnlockt: 
This negligence not half e contenteth me. 
Get you to bed, and, if you loue my f auour, 
Let me haue no more such pranckes as these. 
Come, M(aister) Francklin, let vs go to bed. 

Fran. I, by my faith; the aire is very colde. 

Michaell, farewell; I pray thee dreame no 

more. [Exeunt. 

(SCENE n. 

Outside Francklin's House.} 
Here enters Will, Gre., <fe Shak. 
Shakebag. Black night hath hid the plea 
sure of ye day, 

And sheting darknesse ouerhangs the earth 
And with the black folde of her cloudy robe 
Obscures vs from the eiesight of the worlde, 
In which swete silence such as we triumph. 5 
The laysie minuts linger on their time, 
Loth to giue due audit to the howre, 
Til in the watch our purpose be complete 
And Arden sent to euerlasting night. 9 

Greene, get you gone and linger here about, 
And at some houre hence come to vs againe, 
Where we will giue you instance of his death. 
Gre. Speede to my wish, whose wil so ere 

sayes no; 
And so ile leaue you for an howre or two. 

[Exit Gre. 

Witt. I tel thee, Shakebag, would this 
thing wer don: 15 

I am so heauy that I can scarse go; 
This drowsines in me bods little good. 

Shake. How now, Will? become a pre- 


Nay, then lets go sleepe, when buges and feares 

Shall kill our courages with their fancies 

worke. 20 

Witt. Why, Shakbagge, thou mistakes me 


02 leading D 102 were Q 1 : are Q ?. .? 107 by 
({ :i. he Q 1 Scene II. (tr. mW. T S, 1). Mere. .Shak. 
follows line 1 in Q 1 4 Obscures Q3 : Obscure (fl, ? 




And wrongs me to in telling me of feare. 
Wert not a serious thing we go about, 
It should be slipt til I had fought with thee, 
To let thee know I am no coward, I. 25 

I tel thee, Shakbag, thou abusest me. 
Sha. Why, thy speach bewraied an inlye 

kind of feare, 

And sauourd of a weak relenting spirit. 
Go forward now in that we haue begonne, 
And afterwards attempt me when thou darest. 
Wil. And if I do not, heauen cut me of! 31 
But let that passe, and show me to this 


Where thou shalt see He do as much as Shak 
Sha. This is the doore ; but soft, me thinks 

tis shut. 

The villaine Michaell hath deceiued vs. 35 ! 
Wil. Soft, let me see ; shakbag, tis shut 

Knock with thy sword, perhaps the slaue will 


Shu. It wil not be ; the white liuerd pesant 
Is gon to bed, and laughs vs both to scorne. 
Wil. And he shall by his mirriment as 

deare 4 

As euer coistrell bought so little sport: 
Nere let this sworde assist me when I neede, 
But rust and canker after I haue sworne, 
If I, the next time that I mete the hind, 
Loppe not away his leg, his arme, or both. 45 
Sha. And let me neuer draw a sword 


Nor prosper in the twilight, cockshut light, 
When I would fleece the welthie passenger, 
But ly and languish in a loathsome den, 
Hated and spit at by the goers by, 50 

And in that death may die vnpittied, 
If I, the next time that I meete the slaue, 
Cut not the nose from of the cowards face 
And trample on it for this villany. 
Wil. Come, lets go seeke out Green; I know 

hele swetr. 55 

Sha. He were a villane, and he would not 

Twould make a pesant sweare amongst his 


That nere durst say before but yea and no, 
To be thus flouted of a coysterel. 

Will. Shakbag, lets seeke out Green, & in 

the morning 60 

At the Alehouse butting Ardens house 
Watch thee out comming of that prick card cur, 
And then let me alone to handle him. 


(SCENE in. 

Room in Francklin's House as before.} 

Here enters Ard., Fra., & Michaell. 

Ard. Sirra, get you back to billensgate 

And learne what time the tide will serue our 


Come to vs in Paules. First go make the bed, 
And afterwards go barken for the floude. 

[Exit Michaell. 
Come, M(aiater) Francklin, you shall go with 

me. 5 

This night I dreamd that, beeing in a parke, 
A toyle was picht to ouerthrow the deare, 
And I vppon a little rysing hill 
Stoode whistely watching for the herds ap- 

Euen there, me thought, a gentle slumber 

tooke me, 10 

And sommond all my parts to sweete repose; 
But in the pleasure of this golden rest 
An ill thewd foster had remoued the toyle, 
And rounded me with that beguyling home 
Which late, me thought, was pitcht to cast 

the deare. v 15 

With that he blew an euill sounding home, 
And at the noise an other heardman came, 
With Fauchon drawn, and bent it at my brest, 
Crying aloud ' Thou art the game we seeke ! ' 
With this I wakt and trembled euery ioynt, 20 
Lyke one oscured in a lytle bushe, 
That sees a lyon foraging about, 
And, when the dreadfull forest King is gone, 
He pryes about with timerous suspect 
Throughout the thorny casements of the 

brake, 25 

And will not think his person daungerles, 
But quakes and shewers, though the cause be 


So, trust me, Francklin, when I did awake, 
I stoode in doubt whether I waked or no: 29 
Such great impression tooke this fond surprise. 
God graunt this vision bedeeme me any good. 
Fran. This fantassie doeth rise from 

Michaels feare, 

Who being awaked with the noyse he made, 
His troubled sences yet could take no rest; 34 
And this, I warant you, procured your dreame. 
Ard. It may be so, God frame it to the best: 
But often times my dreames presage to trew. 
Fran. To such as note their nightly fan- 

Some one in twenty may incurre belief e; 
But vse it not, tis but a mockery. 

38 Li, if r,nl< bed Qg .V! of oat. Q-1 ">4 this] his Scene I1F. dr. add. T 
> ?. -V (._> thee Q 1 : tin- V -V slieiiers (^ ? : shiners Q 3 


19 thoughts Ql, ? 


Ard. Come, M aister" 
now walke in Paules 
And dyne togeather at the ordinary, 
And by my mans direction draw to the key, 
And with the tyde go down to Feuershame. 
Say, M(aister) Francklin, shall it not be so? 
Francklin. At your good pleasure, sir; lie 
beare you companye. 46 



Here enters Michaell at one doore 

Here enters Grene, Will, and Shakebag at 

another doore. 

Wil. Draw, Shakbag, for heers that vil- 

laine Michael. 

Gre. First, Will, lets heare what he can say. 
Wil. Speak, milkesope slaue, & neuer after 

Mic. For Gods sake, sirs, let me excuse my 


For hearc I sweare, by heauen and earth and 
all, 5 

I did perf orme the outmost of my task, 
And left the doores vnbolted and vnlockt. 
But see the chaunce: Francklin and my 


Were very late conferring in the porch, 
And Francklin left his napkin where he s>at 10 
With certain gould knit in it, as he said. 
Being in bed, he did bethinke himselfe, 
And com m ing down he found the dores vnshut: 
He lockt the gates, and brought away the 


For which offence my master rated me. 5 
But now I am going to see what floode it is, 
For with the tyde my M aister will away; 
Where you may frons him well on Raynum 

A place well fitting such a stratageme. 

\V il. Tour excuse hath somewhat molyfied 

my choller. 20 

Why now, Greene, tis better now nor ere it 


Gre. But Michaell, is this trew? 
Mic. As trew as I report it to be trew. 
Shak. Then, Michaell, this shall be your 


To feast vs all at the Salutation, 25 

Where we wil plat our purpose throughly. 
Gre. And, Michael, you shal bear no 
newes of this tide, 

4C Tiro liars Qq. (lie. aftir sir Scene IV. ttf. nj,l. 
T 2 Will o. 99 18 frons 07,: front Q -9 22 
thU]it <?-9 

Francklin ; wele Because they two may be in Raynum down 
Before your M( aister ). 

Mic. Why, lie agree to any thing youle 
haue me, 3 

So you will accept of my company. [Exeunt. 

Arden's House at Feversham.} 

Here enters Mosby. 
Mos. Disturbed thoughts dryues me from 


And dryes my marrow with their watchfulnes; 
Continuall trouble of my moody braine 
Feebles my body by excesse of drinke, 
And nippes me as the bitter Northeast wind 5 
Doeth check the tender blosoms in the spring. 
Well fares the man, how ere his cate? do taste, 
That tables not with foule suspition; 
And he but pines amongst his delicats, 
Whose troubled minde is stuft with discontent. 
My goulden time was when I had no gould ; 1 1 
Though then I wanted, yet I slept secure; 
My dayly toyle begat me nights repose, 
My nights repose made daylight fresh to me. 
But since I climbd the toppe bough of the tree 
And sought to build my nest among the clouds, 
Each gentle stary gaile doth shake my bed, 
And makes me dread my downfall to the earth. 
But whether doeth contemplation carry me? 
The way I seeke to finde, where pleasure dwels, 
Is hedged behinde me that I cannot back, 21 
But needs must on, although to dangers gate. 
Then, Arden, perish thou by that dec re; 
For Greene doth erre the land and weede the^ 


To make my haruest nothing but pure corne. 25 
And for his paines He heaue him vp a while, 
And after smother him to haue his waxe: 
Such bees as Greene must neuer liue to sting. 
Then is there Michael and the Painter to, 
Cheefe actors to Ardens ouerthrow; " 3 

Who when they shall see me sit in Arden? seat, 
They wil insult vpon me for my mede, 
Or fright me by detecting of his end. 
He none of that, for I can cast a bone 
To make these curres pluck out each others 

throat, 35 

And then am I sole ruler of mine owne. 
Yet mistres Arden Hues; but she's my selfe, 
And holy Church rites makes vs two but one. 
But what for that ? I may not trust you, Ales: 
You haue supplanted Arden for my sake, 40 
You will extirpen me to plant another. 

28-9 Otif lint Qq 31 accept Q.I: except QJ 

Scene V. WP : AY ir net T S. D. Anien's dr. nM. T 
12 Thought 1 24 erre] he yre Q .? 20 hive D 
:U shall nm. Q3 



ACT III, Sc. V. 

Tis feareful sleeping in a serpents bed, 
And I wil cleanely rid my hands of her. 

Here enters A(l"es. 

But here she comes and I must flatter her. 
How now, Ales? what, sad and passionat? 
Make me pertaker of thy pensiuenes: 46 

Fyre deuided burnes with lesser force. 
Ales. But I will damne that fire in my 


Till by the force therof my part consume. 
Ah, Mosbie! 50 

Mas. Such depe pathaires lyke to a cannons 


Dischargde against a ruinated wall, 
Breakes my relenting hart in thousand pieces. 
Vngentle Ales, thy sorrow is my sore; 
Thou knowst it wel, and tis thy pollicy 55 
To forge distressefull looks to wound a breast 
Where lyes a hart that dies when them art sad. 
It is not loue that loues to anger loue. 

Ales. It is not loue that loues to murther 


Mas. How meane you that? 60 

Ales. Thou knowest how dearly Arden 

loued me. 
Mos. And then? 
Ales. And then conceale the rest, for 

tis too bad, 

Least that my words be carried with the wind, 
And publisht in the world to both our 
shames. 65 

I pray thee, Mosbye, let our springtime wither; 
Our haruest els will yeald but lothsome weedes. 
Forget, I pray thee, what hath past betwix vs, 
For now I blushe and tremble at the thoughts. 
Mos. What? are you changde? 70 

Ales. I, to my former happy lyfe againe, 
From tytle of an odious strumpets name 
To honest Ardens wife, not Ardens honest 


Ha, Mosbye, tis thou hast rifled me of that 
And made me slaundrous to all my kin; 75 
Euen in my forehead is thy name ingrauen, 
A meane Artifiecer, that lowe borne name. 
I was bewitched: woe worth the haples howre 
And all the causes that inchaunted me! 
Mos. Nay, if thou ban, let me breath curses 
forth, 80 

And if you stand so nicely at your fame, 
Let me repent the credit I haue lost. 
I haue neglected matters of import 
That would haue stated me aboue thy state, 
Forslowde aduantages, and spurnd at time: 85 

I, Fortunes right hand Mosbie hath forsooke 
To take a wanton giglote by the left. 
I left the Manage of an honest maid, 
Whose dowry would haue weyed down all thy 

Whose beauty and demianor farre exceeded 

thee: 90 

This certaine good I lost for changing bad, 
And wrapt my credit in thy company. 
I was bewitcht, that is no theame of thine, 
* And thou vnhallowed hast enchaunted me. 
But I will breake thy spels and excir- 

si a mes 95 

And put another sight vpon these eyes 
That shewed my hart a rauen for a doue. 
Thou art not faire, I vieud thee not till now; 
Thou art not kinde, till now I knew the not; 
And now the raine hath beaten of thy gilt, i oo 
Thy worthies copper showes thee counterfet. 
It grieues me not to see how foull thou art, 
But maddes me that euer I thought thee faire. 
Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hyndes; 
I am too good to be thy fauorite. 105 

Ales. I, now I see, and too soone find it 

Which often hath beene tould me by my 


That Mosbie loues me not but for my wealth, 
Which too incredulus I nere beleeued. 
Nay, heare me speake, Mosbie, a word or 

two; no 

He byte my tongue if it speake bitterly. 
Looke on me, Mosby, or He kill my selfe: 
Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy looke. 
If thou cry war re, there is no peace for me; 
I will do pennance for offending thee, 1 1 5 

And burne this prayer booke, where I here 


The holy word that had conuerted me. 
See, Mosbie, I will teare away the leaues, 
And al the leaues, and in this golden couer 
Shall thy sweete phrases and thy letters dwell; 
And thereon will I chiefly meditate, 1 21 

And hould no other sect but such deuotion. 
Wilt thou not looke? is all thy loue ouer- 

Wilt thou not heare? what malice stopes thine 

Why speaks thou not ? what silence ties thy 

tongue? '2S 

Thou hast bene sighted as the eagle is, 
And heard as quickly as the fearefull hare, 
And spoke as smoothly as an orator, 
When I haue bid thee heare or see or speak, 

49-C.O Out line Qq 51 depe rathairea] deep-fet airs 94 hast Q 1. .? : has V,'P 9"> exeirsimes 01 : excr- 
7).:.depe-fetsighs WP CO now 1 : Now WP cismes Q.I 97 dowe Ql : Dove QS 99 the Q 1 : 

74 has \\'P SO thou] vou WJ' ' thee Q 3 107 me om. Q 8 112 or] or else Q 3 



And art thou sensible in none of these? 1 30 
Waigh all thy good turns with this little 


And I deserue not Mosbies muddy lookes. 
A fence of trouble is not thickned still: 
Be cleare againe, He nere more trouble thee. 

Mas. O no, I am a base artificer; 135 

My winges are f eathred for a lowly flight. 
Mosby? fy! no, not for a thousand pound. 
Make loue to you? why, 'tis vnpardonable; 
We beggers must not breath where gentiles 

are. 139 

Ales. Swete Mosbie is as gentle as a King, 
And I too blinde to iudge him otherwise. 
Flowres do some times spring in fallow 


Weedes in gardens, Roses grow on thornes; 
So, what so ere my Mosbies father was, 
Himself e (is) valued gentle by his worth. 145 
Mos. Ah, how you women can insinuate, 
And cleare a trespasse with your sweete set 


I will forget this quarrel, gentle Ales, 
Prouided He be tempted so no more. 

Here enters Bradshaw. 

Al. Then with thy lips seale vp this new 

made match. 150 

M os. Soft, Ales, for here comes some body. 

Ales. How now, Bradshaw, whats the news 

with you? 

Brad. I haue little news, but heres a letter 
That M(aister) Greene importuned me to giue 


Ales. Go in, Bradshaw; call for a cuppe of 
beare; 155 

Tis almost suppertime, thou shalt stay with vs. 
[Exit (Bradshaw. 
Then she reades the Letter. 
' We haue mist of our purpose at London, but 
shall perform it by the waye. We thanke our 
neighbour Bradshaw. 

Yours, Richard Greene.' 
How lykes my loue the tennor of this letter? 
Mos. Well, were his date compleat and 
expired. t6i 

Ales. Ah, would it were! Then come? my 

happy howre : 

Till then my blisse is mixt with bitter gall. 
Come, let vs in to shun suspition. 

Mosb. I, to the gates of death to follow 
thee. !6s 


131 thy] my J 135 0] 0. fie Q3 136 fight Qj 
142 doom. Q-8 145 is odd. ./ 151 for o'm. }\'P 

S. D. exit iif/tr l."j Q 1 1C2 Tito lines Oq dn: were 
165 Prefix Mosb Q 3 : Ales Q 7J 



Country near Rochester.") 

Here enters Greene, Will, & Shakbag. 

Shak. Come, Will, see thy tooles be in a 

Is not thy Powder dancke, or will thy flint 

stryke fyre? 
Witt. Then aske me if my nose be on my 


Or whether my toung be frosen in my mouth. 
Zounds, heres a coyle! 5 

Tou were best sweare me on the intergatories 
How many pistols I haue tooke in hand, 
Or whether I loue the smell of gunne powder, 
Or dare abide the noise the dagge will make, 
Or will not wincke at flashing of the fire. 10 
I pray thee, shackbag, let this answer thee, 
That I haue tooke more purses in this down 
Then ere thou handledst pistols in thy life. 
Shu. I, happely thou hast pickt more in a 
throng: 1 4 

But, should I bragge what booties I haue tooke, 
I think the ouerplus thats more then thine 
Would mount to a greater somme of money 
Then either thou or all thy kinne are worth. 
Zounds, I hate them as I hate a toade 
That cary a muscado in their tongue, 20 

And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand. 

Wil. Greene, intolerable! 
It is not for mine honor to beare this. 
Why, shakbag, I did serue the King at Bul- 


And thou canst bragge of nothing that thou 
hast done. 25 

Shuk. Why, so can Jack of Feuershame, 
That sounded for a phillope on the nose, 
When he that gaue it him hollowed in his eare, 
And he supposed a Cannon bullet hit him. 

Then they fight. 

Grene. I pray you, sirs, list to Esopstalk: 30 
Whilest two stout dogs were striuing for a bone, 
There comes a cur and stole it from them both ; 
So, while you stand striuing on these termes of 


Arden escapes vs, and deceaueV) vs al. 
Shake. Why, he begun. 
Will. And thou shalt finde He end; 35 

I doo but slip it vntil better time: 
But, if I do forget 
Then hee kneeles downe and houldes vp his 

hands to heauen. 

Grene. Wei, take your fittest standings, 
& once more 

Scene VI. etc. odd. T 2 Tiro li(*. Qq dh: danckf 
5-7 Prone Q 1 25 that on>. Q .9 34 escape Q .1 : de- 
ceaue Ql ; deceive Q3 


ACT 111, Sc. VI. 

Lime your twigs to catch this wary bird. 
He leaue you, and at your dags discharge 40 
Make towards, lyke the longing water dog 
That coucheth til the fowling peece be of, 
Then ceazeth on the pray with eager moode. 
Ah, might I see him stretching foorth his 


As I haue seene them beat their wings ere now! 
Shak. Why, that thou shalt see, if he come 

this way. 46 

Cre. Yes, that he doth, shakbag, I warrant 


But braul not when I am gone in any case. 
But, sirs, be sure to speede him when he comes, 
And in that hope lie leaue you for an houre. 50 

[Exit Gre. 

Here enters Arden, Fran., & Mic. 
Mic. Twere best that I went back to 


The horse halts downright; it were not good 
He trauailed in such paine to feuershame; 
Remouing of a shoe may happely help it. 
Ard. Well, get you back to Rochester; but, 
sirra, see 55 

Yeouertake vs ere we come to Raynum down, 
For it will be very late ere we get home. 
Mic. I, God he knowes, & so doth Will 

and shakebagge, 
That thou shalt neuer go further then that 


And therefore haue I prickt the horse on pur 
pose, 60 
Because I would not view the massacar. 

[Exit Michaell. 

Arden. Come, M(aister) Francklin, on 
wards with your tale. 
Fran. I assure you, sir, you taske me much : 
A heauy bloode is gathered at my hart, 
And on the sudden is my winde so short 65 
As hindereth the passage of my speach; 
So f erse a qualme yet neere assayled me. 
Ard. Come, M(aister) Francklin, let vs 

go on softly: 

The anoyance of the dust or els some meat 
You eat at dinner cannot brooke with you. 70 
I haue bene often so, and soone amended. 
Fra. Do you remember where my tale did 

Ard. I, where the gentleman did chek his 


Fran. She being reprehended for the fact, 
Witnes produced that tooke her with the deed, 
Her gloue broght in which there she left 
behind, 76 

39 wavy J : weary Qq 55-6 Prose Q 1 67 i'crsc] 
fierce Q 3 70 with add. Q a 

And many other assured Arguments, 
Her husband askt her whether it were not so. 
Ard. Her answer then? I wonder how she 

Hauing forsworne it with such vehement 

oathes, 80 

And at the instant so approued vppon her. 
Fra. First did she cast her eyes down to the 

Watching the drops that fell amaine from 


Then softly drawes she foorth her handkercher, 
And modestly she wypes her teare staind face ; 
Then hemd she out, to cleare her voice, should 

seeme, 86 

And with a maiesty addrest her selfe 
To encounter all their accusations. 
Pardon me, M(aister) Arden, I can no more ; 
This fighting at my hart makes shorte my 

wynde. go 

Ard. Come, we are almost now at Raynum 


Your pretty tale beguiles the weary way; 
I would you were in state to tell it out. 

Shak. Stand close, Will, I heare them cum - 

ming. 94 

Here enters Lord Cheiny with his men. 
Wil. Stand to it, Shakbag, and be resolute. 
Lord Che. Is it so neere night as it seemes 
Or wil this black faced euening haue a showre? 
What, M(aister) Arden? you are well met, 
I haue longd this fortnights day to speake 

with you: 

You are a stranger, man, in the ile of Sheppy. 

Ard. Your honors alwayes: bound to do 

you seruice. 101 

Lord Che. Come you from London, & nere 

a man with you? 

Ard. My man's comming after, but her's 
My honest freend that came along with me. 
Lord Che. My Lord protectors man I take 
you to bee. 105 

Fran. I, my good Lord, and highly bound 

to you. 
Lord Che. You & your frend come home & 

sup with me. 

Ard. I beseech your honor pardon me; 
I haue made a promise to a gentleman, 
My honest freend, to meete him at my house ; 
The occasion is great, or els would I wait on 
you. i i i 

Lord C. Will you come to morrow & dyne 

with me, 

And bring your honest frend along with you ? 
I haue dyuers matters to talke with you about. 
100 Shepny Q 1 103-4 Die. after Q q 



Arden. To morrow wele waite vpon your 

honor. "5 

_Lord C. One of you staye my horse at the 

top of the hil. 

WhatI black Will? for whose purse wait you? 
Thou wilt be hanged in Kent, when all is done. 

Wil. Not hanged, God saue your honor; 
I am your bedesman, bound to pray for you. 1 20 
Lord C. I think thou nere saidest prayer in 

all thy lyfe. 

One of you giue him a crowne: 
And, sirra, leaue this kinde of lyfe; 
If thou beest tainted for a penny matter, 124 
And come in question, surely, thou wilt trusse. 
Come, M(aister) Arden, let vs be going;" 
Youre way and mine lyes foure myle togeather. 
[Exeunt. Manet Black Wil & Shakbag. 
Wil. The Deuill break all your necks at 4 

myles end! 

Zounds, I could kill my selfe for very anger! 
His Lordship chops me in, euen when 130 

My dagge was leaueld at his hart. 
I would his crowne were molten down his 


Sha. Arden, thou hast wondrous holye luck. 
Did euer man escape as thou hast done? 
Well, lie discharge my pistoll at the skye, 135 
For by this bullet Arden might not die. 

Here enters Greene. 

Gre. What, is he down? is he dispatcht? 
Sho. I, in health towards Feuershame, to 

shame vs all. 
Gre. The Deuill he is! why, sirs, how escapt 


shak. When we were ready to shoote, 140 

Comes my Lord Cheiny to preuent his death. 

Grene. The Lord of heauen hath preserued 


Will. Preserued a figge! The L^ord) 
Cheiny hath perserued him, 143 

And bids him to a feast to his house at shorlow. 
But by the way once more lie meete with him, 
And, if all the Cheinies in the world say no, 
lie haue a bullet in his breast to morrow. 
Therefore come, Greene, and let vs to Feuer- 

Gre. I, and excuse our selues to mistres 


0, how shele chafe when she heares of this! 
sha. Why, ile warrant you shel think we 
dare not do it. 151 

Wil. Why, then let vs go, & tell her all the 


And plat the newes to cut him of to morrow. 
..* [Exeunt. 

124 uj one Qy LKJ-1 Lie. in U7' 



Arden's House at Feversham.} 
Here enters Arden and his wife, Francklin, and 

Ard. See how the howrs, the gardcant of 

heauens gate, 
Haue by their toyle remoued the darksome 


That Soil may wel deserne the trampled pace 

Wherein he wount to guide his golden car: 

The season fits; come, Francklin, let's away. 

Ales. I thought you did pretend some 

speciall hunt, 6 

That made you thus cut shorte the time of 

Ard. It was no chase that made me rise so 


But, as I tould thee yesternight, to go 
To the Ile of Sheppy, there to dine with my 
Lord Cheiny; 10 

For so his honor late commanded me. 

Ales. I, such kinde husbands seldome want 


Home is a wilde Cat to a wandring wit. 
The time hath bene, would God it were not 


That honors ty tie nor a Lords command 1 5 
Could once haue drawne you from these armes 

of mine. 

But my deserts or your desires decay, 
Or both; yet if trew loue may seeme desert, 
I merite stil to haue thy company. 

Fran. Why, I pray you, sir, let her go along 
with vs; 20 

I am sure his honor wil welcome her 
And vs the more for bringing her along. 
Ard. Content; sirra, saddle your mistres 


Ales. No, begde fauor merits little thankes; 
If I should go, our house would runne away, 25 
Or els be stolne; therefore Ile stay behind. 
Ard. Nay, see how mistaking you are! 
I pray thee, goe. 

Ales. No, no, not now. 

Ard. Then let me leaue thee satisfied in 


That time nor place nor persons alter me, 30 
But that I hould thee dearer then my life. 
Ales. That will be scene by your quick 

Act IV. d<: mid. T 1 gardeant] guard at Q3 '-\ 
descrnc 117': deserue 01 : discerne 0.9 pace] rath 
117'. l,i, f rf. .V. K. J>. 9-10 ZiV, Sbeppy 0| 17 
117' : dctserues Qq 


ACT IV, St. II. 

Ard. And that shall be ere night, and if I 

Hue. 33 

Farewell, sweetc Ales, we mind to sup with 

thee. [Exit Al. 

Fra. Come, Michaell, are our horses ready ? 

Michaell. I, your horse are ready, but I am 

not ready, for I haue lost my purse, with six 

and thirtie shillinges in it, with taking vp of 

my M^aisters/ Nagge. 

Mic. What, with a dagger made of a pen- 
sell? Faith, tis too weake, and therefore thou 
to weak to winne susan. 80 

Cla. Would susans loue lay vppon this 

Then he breakes Michaels head. 

Here enters Mosby, Greene, & Ales. 
Ales. He lay my lyfe, this is for susans loue. 

Fra. Why, I pray you, let vs go before, 40 , Stayd you behinde your M aister to this end? 
Whitest he stayes behind to seeke his purse. j Haue you no other time to brable in 85 

Ard. Go too, sirra, see you follow vs to ; But now when serious matters are in hand? 

Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou 


Cla. I, heare it is; the very touch is death. 
Ales. Then this, I hope, if all the rest do 


Wil catch M^aister) Arden, <?o 

And make him wise in death that liued a foolc. 
Why should he thrust his sickle in our corne, 
Or what hath he to do with thee, my loue, 
Or gouerne me that am to rule my selfe? 94 
Forsooth, for credit sake, I must leaue thee: 
Nay, he must leaue to liue that we may loue, 
May Hue, may loue; for what is lyfe but loue? 
And loue shall last as long as lyfe remaines, 
And lyfe shall end before my loue depart. 
Mas. Why, whats loue without true con 
stancy? 100 
Lyke to a piller built of many stones, 
Yet neither with good morter well compact 
Nor cement to fasten it in the ioynts, 
But that it shakes with euery blast of winde, 
And, being toucht, straight falles vnto the 
earth, 105 
And buries all his haughty pride in dust. 
No, let our loue be rockes of Addamant, 
Which time nor place nor tempest can asunder. 

Gre. Mosbie, leaue protestations now, 
And let vs bethinke vs what we haue to doo. 
Black Will and shakebag I haue placed 

the ile of sheppye 

To my Lord Cheynyes, where we meane to 
dine. 43 

[Exeunt Arden & Francklin. 
[Manet Michaell. 

Mic. So, fairo weather after you, for before 
you lyes black Will and shakebag in the 
broome close, to close for you: theyle be your 
ferrymen to long home. 

Here enters the Painter. 
But who is this? the Painter, my corriual, that 
would nedes winne M jstris Susan. 

Clark. How now, Michael? how doth rriy 
Mistresse and all at home? 51 

Mic. Who? susan Mosbye? she is your 
Mistres, too? 

Cla. I, how doth she and all the rest? 

Mic. ATs well but susan; she is sicke. 55 

Cla. Sick? 01 what disease? 

Mic. Of a great feare. 

CZa. A feare of what? 

M ic. A great feuer. 

Cla. A feuer? God forbidde! 60 

Mic. Yes, faith, and of a lordaine too, as 
bigge as your selfe. 

Cla. 0, Michael, the spleane prickles you. 
Go too, you carry an eye ouer mistres susan. 

Mic. I, faith, to keepe her from the Painter. 

Cla. Why more from a Painter then from In the broome close, watching Ardens com- 

a seruing creature like your selfe? 


Mic. Because you Painters make but a Lets to them, and see what they haue done. 

painting table of a pretty wench, and spoile 
her beauty with blotting. 70 

Cla. What meane you by that? 

M ic. Why, that you Painters paint lambes 
in the lyning of, wenches peticots, and we 
seruingmen put homes to them to make them 
become sheepe. 75 

Cla. Such another word wil cost you a cuffe 
or a knock. 

33 be OIH. Q 3 30 horses 3 30-9 Vtrne Qq : con: 
D 38 of out. Q3 39 M. Q 1 : mistris Q 3 42 sec] 
sec that Q 3 44 weather] whether Q 1 44-9, 61-4 j 78-80 Thru- re. 
Verse Q< { 49 M. Q 1 : mistris 03 57 feuer D 72-5 \0 J, 2 112 bn 
Two terse lines Qq ' T 2-3 Verse Q 


The Kentish Coast opposite the Isle of Sheppey.] 

Here enters Ard. & Fra. 
Ard. Oh, ferryman, where art thou? 

Here enters the Ferriman. 
Fer. Here, here, goe before to the boat, and 
I will follow you. 

8-80 Tli n i- rci-Kf // Q<i 103 cement Q 3 : scuicll 
" " 'n-ooni, close J etc. Scene II. &. add. 



Ard. We haue great haste; I pray thee, 
come away. 

Fer. Fy, what a mist is here I 5 

Ard. This mist, my frend, is misticall, 
Lyke to a good companions smoaky braine, 
That was halfe dround with new ale ouer 

Fer. Twere pitty but his scull were opened 
to make more Chimny roome. 10 

Fran. Freend, whats thy opinion of this 

Fer. I think tis lyke to a curst wife in a 
lytle house, that neuer leaues her husband till 
she haue driuen him out at doores with a wet 
paire of eyes; then looker he as if his house 
were a fire, or some of his f reends dead. 1 6 

Ard. Speaks thou this of thine owne expe 

Fer. Perhaps, I; perhaps, no: For my wyfe 
is as other women are, that is to say, gouerned 
by the Moone. 

Fran. By the Moone? how, I pray thee? 

Fer. Na, thereby lyes a bargane, and you 
shall not haue it fresh and fasting. 

Ard. Yes, I pray thee, good ferryman. 

Fer. Then for this once; let it be midsom- 
mer Moone, but yet my wyfe has another 
moone. 27 

Fran. Another Moone? 

Fer. I, and it hath influences and Eclipses. 

Ard. Why, then, by this reconing you som- 
times play the man in the Moone? 31 

Fer. I, but you had not best to meddle with 
that moone, least I scratch you by the face 
with my bramble bush. 

Ard. I am almost stifled with this fog; 
come, lets away. 36 

Fran. And, sirra, as we go, let vs haue som 
more of your bolde yeomandry. 

Fer. Nay, by my troth, sir, but flat knauery. 


Another place on the Coast.} 

Here enters Will at one doore, and Shakbag at 


Sha. Oh, Will, where art thou? 

Wil. Here, shakbag, almost in hels mouth, 
where I can not see my way for smoake. 

Sha. I pray thee speake still that we may 
mete by the sound, for I shall fall into some 
ditche or other, vnles my feete see better then 
my eies. 7 

Wil. Didest thou euer see better weather to 


0-10, 12-16, 22-3, 25-7, 30-4 Yo-sc 

> Of] 2C has 0.9: 

as QI, i> 32 not best] l>obt not 1V> Scene III. 
tic. add. }\'P 2-U Vim (ft 5 for] or Q3 

runne away with another mans wife, or play 
with a wenche at potfinger ? i o 

shak. No; this were a fine world for chand 
lers, if this weather would last; for then a 
man should neuer dyne nor sup without can 
dle light. But, sirra Will, what horses are 
those that past? 15 

Wil. Why, didst thou heare any? 

Sha. I, that I did. 

Will. My life for thine, twas Arden, and 
his companion, and then all our labour's lost. 

Sha. Nay, say not so, for if it be they, they 
may happely loose their way as we haue done, 
and then we may chaunce meete with them. 

Wil. Come, let vs go on lyke a couple cf 
blind pilgrims. 

Then Shakebag jalles into a ditch. 

Sha. Helpe, Will, help! I am almost 
drownd. 25 

Here enters the ferryman. 

Fer. Whose that that calles for help? 

Wil. Twas none heere, twas thou thy selfe. 

Fer. I came to help him that cald for help. 
Why, how now? who is this thats in the ditch? 
You are well enough serued to goe without a 
guyde such weather as this. 31 

Wil. Sirra, what companyes hath past your 
ferry this morning? 

Fer. None but a cupple of gentlemen, that 
went to dyne at my Lord cheyneis. 35 

Wil. Shakbag, did not I tell thee as much? 

Fer. Why, sir, will you haue any letters 
caried to them? 

Wil. No, sir; get you gone. 

Fer. Did you euer see such a mist as this? 

Wil. No, nor such a foole as will rather be 
bought then get his way. 4* 

Fer. Why, sir, this is no hough munday; 
you ar deceiud. Whats his name, I pray you, 
sir? 45 

Sha. His name is black will. 

Fer. I hope to see him one day hangd vpon 
a hill. [Exit Ferriman. 

Sha. See how the Sunne hath cleard the 

foggy mist, 
Now we haue mist the marke of our intent. 

Here enters Grene, Mosbye, and Ales. 
Mos. Black Will and Shakbag, what make 
you heer? 5 

What, is the deed don? is Arden dead? 

Wil. What could a blynded man performe 

in armes? 

Saw you not how till now the sky was darke, 
That neither horse nor man could be decerned? 

11-1.-.. 1S-0. 2S-:i 
thats] that Iks ^J 

', / w ''/ ]i; t lion 0111. Q 
43 though iluuday <j y 



ACT IV, St. IV, 

Yet did we heare their horses as they past. 55 
Ore. Haue they escapt you, then, and past 

the ferry? 
Sha. I, for a while; but here we two will 

\nd at their comming back meete with them 

once more. 
Zounds, I was nere so toylde in all my lyfe 
n following so slight a taske as this. 60 

Mos. How camst thou so beraide? 
Wil. With making false footing in the 


le needs would follow them without a guide. 
Ales. Here's to pay for a fire and good 


Jet you to Feuershame to the flowre de luce, 65 
tad rest your selues vntil some other time. 
Gre. Let me alone; it most concernes my 

Witt. I, mistres Arden, this wil serue the 

n case we fal into a second fog. 

[Exeunt Grene, Will, and Shak. 

Mos. These knaues wil neuer do it, let vs 

giue it ouer. 70 

Ales. First tell me how you like my new 


loone, when my husband is returning back, 
fou and I both marching arme in arme, 
>yke louing frends, wele meete him on the 
way, 74 

Ind boldly beard and braue him to his teeth. 
iVhen words grow hot and blowes beginne to 

le call those cutters foorth your tenement, 

o, in a manner to take vp the fray, 
Shall wound my husband hornesbie to the 
death. 79 

Mos. Ah, fine deuisel why, this deserues a 
kisse. [Exeunt. 


The Open Country.} 

Here enters Dicke Reede and a Sailer. 

Sayler. Faith, Dick Rede, it is to lytle end: 

lis conscience is too liberal!, and he too 


?o parte from any thing may doo thee good. 
Rede. He is coming from Shorlow as I 


lere ile intercept him, for at his house 5 

le neuer will vouchafe to speake with me. 
f prayers and faire intreaties will not serue, 
)r make no battry in his flintye breast, 

Here enters Fra., Ard., and Michaell. 

Ile cursse the carle, and see what that wil doo. 
Se where he comes to further my intent I 10 
M aister Arden, I am now bound to the sea; 
My comming to you was about the plat 
Of ground which wrongfully you detaine from 


Although the rent of it be very small, 
Yet will it helpe my wife and children, 15 
Which here I leaue in Feuershame, God 

Needy and bare: for Christs sake, let them 

haue it! 
Ard. Francklin, hearest thou this fellow 


That which he craues I dearely bought of him, 
Although the rent of it was euer mine. 20 
Sirra, you that aske these questions, 
If with thy clamarous impeaching tongue 
Thou raile on me, as I haue heard thou dost, 
Ile lay thee vp so close a twelue months day, 
As thou shalt neither see the Sonne nor Moone. 
Looke to it, for, as surely as I Hue, 26 

Ile banish pittie if thou vse me thus. 

Rede. What, wilt thou do me wrong & 

threat me, too? 
Nay, then, Ile tempt thee, Arden, doo thy 


God, I beseech thee, show some miracle 30 
On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this. 
That plot of ground which thou detaines from 


I speake it in an agony of spirite, 
Be ruinous and fa tall vnto thee! 
Either there be butcherd by thy dearest 

freends, 35 

Or els be brought for men to wonder at, 
Or thou or thine miscary in that place, 
Or there runne mad and end thy cursed dayes! 
Fra. Fy, bitter knaue, brydle thine enuious 


For curses are like arrowes shot vpright, 40 

Which falling doun light on the s h uters head. 

Rede. Light where they will! Were I 

vppon the sea, 

As oft I haue in many a bitter storme, 
And saw a dreadfull suthern flaw at hand, 
The Pylate quaking at the doubtfull storme, 45 
And all the saylers praying on their knees, 
Euen in that fearefull time would I fall down, 
And aske of God, what ere betide of me, 
Vengeance on Arden or some misevent 
To shewe the world what wrong the carle hath 

done. 5 

76 blowes] words @ 3 79 Hornbeast WP 80 Ah] 1-J onJ.i ground (fa 27 thou] you Q3 31 plauging 
\CP J-mie IV. iti: mkl. T 3 thee] him Q:j Qi 41 sutors QJ, -2 : shooters Q3 



This charge lie leaue with my distresfull wife, 
My children shall be taught such praiers as 


And thus I go, but leaue my cursse with thee. 

[Exeunt Rede & Sayler. 

Ard. It is the raylingest knaue in christen - 


And oftentimes the villaine will be mad; 55 
It greatly matters not what he sayes, 
But I assure you I nere did him wrong. 
Fra. I think so, M(aister) Arden. 
Ard. Now that our horses are gone home 


My wife may hapely mete me on the way. 60 
For God knowes she is growne passing kinde 

of late, 

And greatly chaunged from the oulde 
Humor of her wounted frowardnes, 
And seekes by faire meanes to redeeme ould 

Fra. Happy the change that alters for the 

best! 65 

But see in any case you make no speache 
Of the cheare we had at my Lord Cheineis, 
Although most bounteous and liberal!, 
For that will make her think her selfe more 


In that we did not carry her along; 70 

For sure she greeued that she was left behinde. 

Ard. Come, Francklin, let vs strain to mend 

our pace, 
And take her vna wares playing the cooke; 

Here enters Ales and Mosbie. 
For I beleeue sheele stryue to mend our 


Fran. Why, thers no better creaturs in the 

world, 75 

Then women are when they are in good 

Ard. Who is that? Mosbie? what, so 


Iniurious strumpet, and thou ribald knaue, 
Vntwyne those armes. 

Ales. I, with a sugred kisse let them 

vntwine. 80 

Ard. Ah, Mosbie! periurde beast! beare 

this and all! 
Mos. And yet no horned beast; the homes 

are thine. 
Fran. monstrous! Nay, then tis time to 


Ales. Helpe, helpe! they murther my hus 

Here enters Will and Shak. 
Sha. Zounds, who iniures M(aister) Mos 
bie? 85 
Help, Wil! I am hurt. 

Mos. I may thank you, Mistres arden, for 
this wound. 

[Exeunt Mosby, Will, and Shakbag. 

Ales. Ah, Arden, what folly blinded thee? 

Ah, Jelious harebraine man, what hast thou 


When we, to welcome thy intended sport, 90 
Came louingly to mete thee on thy way, 
Thou drewst thy sword, inraged with Jelousy, 
And hurte thy freende whose thoughts were 

free from harme; 

All for a woorthles kisse and ioyning armes, 
Both don but mirrely to try thy patience. 95 
And me vnhappy that deuysed the Jest, 
Which, though begonne in sporte, yet ends in 

Fran. Mary, God defend me from such a 

Ales. Couldst thou not see vs frendly smyle 

on thee, 

When we ioynd armes, and when I kist his 
cheeke? 100 

Hast thou not lately found me ouer kinde? 
Didst thou not heare me cry, they murther thee ? 
Cald I not helpe to set my husband free? 
No, eares and all were witcht; ah me accurst 
To lincke in lyking with a frantick man! 105 
Hence foorthlle be thyslaue, no more thy wife, 
For with that name I neuer shall content thee. 
If I be merry, thou straight waies thinks me 


If sad, thou saiest the sullens trouble me; 
If well attyred, thou thinks I will be gadding; 
If homely, I seeme sluttish in thine eye: i " 
Thus am I still, and shall be till I die, 
Poore wench, abused by thy misgouernment! 
Ard. But is it for trueth that neither thou 

nor he 

Entendedst malice in your misdemeanor? 115 
Ales. The heauens can witnes of our har ra 
les thoghts. 
Ard. Then pardon me, sweete Ales, and 

forgiue this faulte: 

Forget but this and neuer see the lyke. 
Impose me pennance, and I will performe it, 
For in thy discontent I finde a death, 1 20 
A death tormenting more then death it selfe. 
Ales. Nay, hadst thou loued me as thou 
doest pretend, 

51my]wy^7 60 me cm. Q 3 62 fml* humor 90 thy] thee with W/' 9:1 THU lima <<'/ ''"'; 
om/> 78ber<HR.O toplay<?.2 75 creature freende 112 till] whill (j 1 : while Q '). tt<; 
82 horne-beast # tico lints Q 1, ?, dit. beast 1 Two lines Qq, dit. Alt 1 * 



ACT V, Sc. I. 

Thou wouldst haue markt the speaches of thy 


Who going wounded from the place, he said 
His skinne was peirst only through my deuise ; 
And if sad sorrow taint thee for this fait, 1 26 
Thou wouldst haue followed him, and sene 

him drest, 
And cryde him mercy whome thou hast mis- 


Nere shall my hart be eased till this be done. 
Arden. Content thee, sweete Ales, thou 
shalt haue thy wil, 1 30 

What ere it be. For that I iniurde thee, 
And wrongd my frend, shame scourgeth my 


Come thou thy selfe, and go along with me, 
And be a mediator twixt vs two. 
Fran. Why, M(aister) Arden! know you 
what you do? 1 35 

Will you follow him that hath dishonourd you? 
Ales. Why, canst thou proue I haue bene 

Fran. Why, Mosbie taunts your husband 

with the horn. 

Ales. I, after he had reuyled him 
By the iniuryous name of periurde beast: 1 40 
He knew no wrong could spyte an Jelious man 
More then the hatef ull naming of the borne. 

Fran. Suppose tis trew; yet is it dangerous 
To follow him whome he hath lately hurt. 
Ales. A fault confessed is more then halfe 
amends; 145 

But men of such ill spirite as your selfe 
Worke crosses and debates twixt man and wife. 
Ard. I pray the, gentle Francklin, holde 

thy peace: 

I know my wife counsels me for the best. 

He seeke out mosby where his wound is drest, 

And salue his haples quarrell if I may. 151 

[Exeunt Arden <fe Ales. 

Fran. He whome the diuel driues must go 


Poore gentleman, how sone he is bewitcht! 
And yet, because his wife is the instrument, 
His frends must not be lauish in their speach. 

[Exit Fran. 

(ACT V. 

A street in Feversham.} 
Here enters Will, shakabage, & Greene. 
Wil. Sirra Greene, when was I so long in 
killing a man? 

138 taunts your (} .? : troiuit you ^ 1 : taunted your 
I> 141 an] a (j_ :j 149 me om. 3 150 Prefix Ard. 

"j * Y * *^w tin* i///f . Y *> i<^v j. i r/ut- Alii* 

repeated More this lint Q 1 151 bis] this D Act V. 

Gre. I think we shall neuer do it; let vs 
giue it ouer. 

Sha. Nay, Zounds! wele kill him, though 
we be hangd at his dore for our labour. 6 

Wil. Thou knowest, Greene, that I haue 
liued in London this twelue yeers, where I 
haue made some go vppon wodden legges for 
taking the wall on me; dyuers with siluer 
noses for saying ' There goes black will! ' I haue 
crackt as many blades as thou hast done Nutes. 

Gre. monstrous lye! 13 

Will. Faith, in a maner I haue. The 
bawdie houses haue paid me tribute; there 
durst not a whore set vp, vnlesse she haue 
aggreed with me first for opning her shoppe 
windowes. For a crosse worde of a Tapster 
I haue pearced one barrell after another with 
my dager, and held him by the eares till all 
his beare hath run out. In Temes streete a 
brewers carte was lyke to haue runne ouer 
me: I made no more ado, but went to the dark 
I and cut all the natches of his tales and beat 
! them about his head. I and my companye 
haue taken the Constable from his watch, and 
carried him about the fields on a coltstaffe. 
I haue broken a Sariants head with his owne 
mace, and baild whome I list with my sword 
and buckler. All the tenpenny alehouses 
would stand euery morning with a quart pot 
in their hand, saying, ' will it please your wor 
ship drinke?' He that had not doone so. had 
beene sure to haue had his Signe puld down & 
his latice borne away the next night. To con 
clude, what haue I not done? yet cannot do 
this; doubtles, he is preserued by Miracle. 37 

Here enters Ales and Michael!. 
Gre. Hence, Will! here comes M istris 

Ales. Ah, gentle michaell, art thou sure 

thei'r frends? 

Mic. Why, I saw them when they both 
shoke hands. 40 

When Mosbie bled, he euen wept for sorrow, 
And raild on Francklin that was cause of 


No sooner came the Surgen in at doores, 
But my M(aister) tooke to his purse and gaue 

him money, 

j And, to conclude, sent me to bring you word 
[ That Mosbie, Francklin, Bradshaw, Adam 
f owle, 4 6 

With diuers of his neighbors and his frends, 

3-37 Yaw Go 10 of ine 02, 3 12 done om. V'P 
20 by QV-.beOl 24 all] off 03 21 him om. :} 
30 men mM. J 32 their] his Q 1 34 Singne <j 1 
38 M. ()1 : inistris <J3 44 to om. Q3 



Will come and sup with you at our house this 


Ales. Ah, gentle Michael!, runne thou bak 

againe, 49 

And, when my husband walkes into the faire, 

Bid Mosbie steale from him and come to me; 

And this night shal thou and Susan be made 


Mic. He go tell him. 
Ales. And as thou goest, tell John cooke of 

our guests, 

And bid him lay it on, spare for no coast. 55 

[Exit Michaell. 

Wil. Nay, and there be such cheere, we 

wil bid our selues. 
Mistres Arden, Dick Greene & I do meane to 

sup with you. 

Ales. And welcome shall you be. Ah, gen 

How mist you of your purpose yesternight? 
Gre. Twas long of shakebag, that vnluckye 
villaine. 60 

Sha. Thou doest me wrong; I did as much 

as any. 
Wil. Nay then, M(istris) Ales, He tell you 

how it was: 

When he should haue lockt with both his hilts, 
He in a brauery florisht ouer his head; 
With that comes Francklin at him lustely, 65 
And hurts the slaue; with that he slinks away. 
Now his way had bene to haue come hand 
and feete, one and two round, at his costerd: 
he lyke a foole beares his sword point halfe a 
yarde out of danger. I lye here for my lyfe; 
if the deuill come, and he haue no more 
strength then fence, he shall neuer beat me 
from this warde. 

He stand to it, a buckler in a skilfull hand 
Is as good as a castell; nay, 75 

Tis better then a sconce, for I haue trydc it. 
Mosbie, perceiuing this, began to faint: 
With that comes Arden with his arming sword, 
And thrust him through the shoulder in a 


Ales. I, but I wonder why you both stoode 

still. 80 

Wil. Faith, I was so amazed, I could not 

Ales. Ah, sirs, had he yesternight bene 


For euery drop of his detested bloode 
I would haue cram'd in Angels in thy fist, 
And kist thee, too, and hugd thee in my armes. 

2 mistris Alice (J :i : M. Arden }\'J> (',7 haue out. \ 
OH C7-7:i lt*-\< ^ -. run: 1> 7-J tin-ill than I haue ! 
\\P 84 have cranfd y :j -. cramme OJ 85 mine 
tfi', 3 

Wil. Patient your selfe, we can not help it 
now. 86 

Greene and we two will dogge him through 
the faire, 

And stab him in the croud, and steale away. 

Here enters Mosbye. 

Ales. It is vnpossible; but here comes he 

That will, I hope, inueut some surer meanes.. 

Swete Mosbie, hide thy arme, it kils my hart. 

Mos. I, mistres Arden, this is your fauour. 

Ales. Ah, say not so; for when I sawe thee 


I could haue toke the weapon thou letst fall, 
And runne at Arden; for I haue sworne 95 
That these mine eyes, offended with his sight, 
Shall neuer close till Ardens be shut vp. 
This night I rose and walkt about the chamber, 
And twise or thrise I thought to haue murthred I 


Mos. What, in the night? then had we bene j 
vndone. i oo 

Ales. Why, how long shall he liue? 
Mos. Faith, Ales, no longer then this 


Black Will and shakbag, will you two perf orme 
The complot that I haue laid? 

Will. I, or els think me a villaine. 105 j 

Gre. And rather then you shall want, lie 

helpe my selfe. 
Mos. You, M'aister) Greene, shal single 

Francklin foorth, 
And hould him with a long tale of strange 


That he may not come home till suppertime. 
He fetch M aister , Arden home, & we like ) 
trends nc 

Will play a game or two at tables here. 
Ales. But what of all this? how shall he be 

Mosbie. Why, black Wil and shakebag locki 

within the countinghouse 
Shall at a certaine watchword giuen rush j 


Wil. What shall the watch word be? iif ' 
Mos. ' Now I take you ' that shall be the 


But come not forth before in any case. 
Wil. I warrant you. But who shall loci 

me in? 
-Ales. That will I do; thou'st kepe the kej 

thy selfe. 

M os. Come, M aister x Greene, go you alonf . 
with me. i z< 

lo:J < W.v t wo (fr : r,n->: Wl' 105 a] as a <i 1 10. 
Tin, I in,* (iij. iln. want 112 TH-O Hutu 0<], du: this 
110 do 01,1. <>:i thoifst] thou'lt Q3 



ACT V, Sc. I. 

See all things ready, Ales, against we come. 
Ales. Take no care for that; send you him 

home, [Exeunt Mosbie and Greene. 

And if he ere go forth againe, blame me. 
Come, blacke Will, that in mine eies art faire; 
Next vnto Mosbie doe I honour thee; 1 25 

Instead of faire wordes and large promises 
My hands shall play you goulden harmonie : 
How like you this? say, will you doe it, sirs? 
Will. I, and that brauely too. Marke my 


Place Mosbie, being a stranger, in a chaire, 130 
And let your husband sit vpon a stoole, 
That I may come behind him cunninglie, 
And with a towell pull him to the ground, 
Then stab him till his flesh be as a siue; 
That doone, beare him behind the Abby, 1 35 
That those that finde him murthered may sup 

Some slaue or other kild him for his golde. 
Ales. A fine deuice: you shall haue twenty 


And when he is dead, you shalhaue forty more. 
And, least you might be suspected staying 

heere, 1 40 

Michaell shall saddle you two lusty geldings; 
Ryde whether you will, to Scotland, or to 


He see you shall not lacke, where ere you be. 
Wil. Such wordes would make one kill 

1000. men. 

Giue me the key: which is the counting house? 
Ales. Here would I stay and still encourage 

you, 146 

But that I know how resolute you are. 
Sha. Tush, you are too faint harted; we 

must do it. 
Ales. But Mosbie will be there, whose very 


Will ad vnwounted courage to my thought, 150 
And make me the first that shall aduenture on 

Wil. Tush, get you gone; tis we must do 

the deede. 
When this doore oppens next, looke for his 

death. (Exeunt Will and Shakebag.) 
Ales. Ah, would he now were here that it 

might oppen! 

I shall no more be closed in Ardens armes, 155 
That lyke the snakes of blacke Tisiphone 
Sting me with their embraceings: mosbies 


Shal compasse me, and, were I made a starre, 
I would haue none other spheres but those. 
There is no nector but in Mosbies lypes! 160 

134 sive Q .? : sine Q I 153 ,?. D. 

Had chast Diana kist him, she like me 
Would grow loue sicke and from her watrie 


Fling down Endimion and snatch him vp: 
Then blame not me that slay a silly man 
Not halfe so louely as Endimion. 1 65 

Here enters Michaell. 
M ic. Mistres, my maister is comming hard 


Ales. Who comes with him? 

Michaell. Nobody but mosbye. 

Ales. Thats well, michaell. Fetch in the 

And when thou hast done, stand before the 

countinghouse doore. 170 

Mic. Why so? 
Ales. Black will is lockt within to do the 


Mic. What? shall he die to night? 
Ales. I, michaell. 

Mic. But shall not susan know it? 175 
Ales. Yes, for Shele be as secreete as our 


Mic. Thats braue. lie go fetch the tables. 
Ales. But, michaell, hearke to me a word 

or two: 
When my husband is come in, lock the streete 

doore; 179 

He shall be murthred, or the guests come in. 

[Exit mic. 

Here enters Arden & Mosbie. 
Husband, what meane you to bring mosby 


Although I wisht you to be reconciled, 
Twas more for feare of you then loue of him. 
Black Will and Greene are his companions, 
And they are cutters, and may cut you shorte: 
Therefore I thought it good to make you f rends. 
But wherefore do you bring him hether now? 
You haue giuen me my supper with his sight. 
Mos. M(aister) Arden, me thinks your wife 

would haue me gone. 

Arden. No, good M^aister; Mosbie; women 
will be prating. 1 90 

Ales, bid him welcome; he and I are f rends. 

Ales. You may inforce me to it, if you will; 
But I had rather die then bid him welcome. 
His company hath purchest me ill frends, 
And therefore wil I nere frequent it more. 1 95 
Mos. Oh, how cunningly she can dissem - 


Ard. Now he is here, you wil not serue 
me so. 

124 my 05 
add. WP 

103 snatli 1 
132 Althought (j 

180 or Q J : ere Q 3 : or e'er J 
190 prattling Q 3 



Ales. I pray you be not angree or dis- 

He bid him welcome, seing youle haue it so. 
You are welcome, M(aister) Mosbie; will you 
sit down? 2\>o 

Mos. I know I am welcome to your louing 

But for your selfe, you speake not from your 


Ales. And if I do not, sir, think I haue cause. 
Mos. Pardon me, M(aister) Arden; He away. 
Ard. No, good M(aister) Mosbie. 205 

Ales. We shal haue guests enough, thogh 

you go hence. 
Mos. I pray you, M(aister) Arden, let me 

Ard. I pray thee, Mosbie, let her prate her 

Ale. The dores are open, sir, you may be 


Mic. Nay, thats a lye, for I haue lockt the 

dores. 210 

Ard. Sirra, fetch me a cup of Wine, He 

make them freends. 
And, gentle M(istris) Ales, seeing you are so 


You shal beginne: frowne not, He haue it so. 
Ales. I pray you meddle with that you haue 

to do. 

Ard. Why, Ales! how can I do too much 

for him 215 

Whose lyf e I haue endaungered without cause? 

Ale. Tis true; & seeing twas partly through 

my means, 

I am content to drinke to him for this once. 
Here, M(aister) Mosbie! and I pray you, 


Be you as straunge to me as I to you. 2 20 

Your company hath purchased me ill freends, 
And I for you, God knowes, haue vndeserued 
Beene ill spoken of in euery place; 
Therefore hencefoorth frequent my house no 


Mos. He see your husband in dispight of 
you. 225 

Yet, Arden, I protest to thee by heauen, 
Thou nere shalt see me more after this night. 
He go to Roome rather then be forsworne. 
Ar. Tush, He haue no such vowes made in 

my house. 

Ales. Yes, I pray you, husband, let him 

sweare; 230 

And, on that condition, Mosbie, pledge me 

Mos. I, as willingly as I meane to liue. 

211 Tirn lines Qq, tJir. Wine 220 you as] as ft 
231 Mosbie om. (j :i 

Ard. Come, Ales, is our supper ready 

Ales. It wil by then you haue plaid a game 

at tables. 
Ard. Come, M aister} Mosbie, what shall 

we play for? 235 

Mos. Three games for a french crowne, 

sir, and please you. 
Ard. Content. 
Then they play at the Tables. (Enter Will 

and Shakebag). 
Wil. Can he not take him yet? what a 

spight is that? 
Ales. Not yet, Will; take hede he see thee 


tt" /7. I feare he will spy me as I am com 
ing. 240 
M ic. To preuent that, creepe betwixt my 


Mos. One ace, or els I lose the game. 
Ard. Mary, sir, theres two for fayling. 
Mos. Ah, M aister) Arden, ' now I can 

take you.' 

Then Will pulles him down with a towett. 
Ard. Mosbie! Michaell! Ales! what will you 

do? 245 

Witt. Nothing but take you vp, sir, nothing 

Mos. Thers for the pressing Iron you tould 

me of. (Stabs him.} 

Sha. And ther's for the ten pound in my 

sleeue. (Stabs him.) 

Ales. What! grones thou? nay, then giue 

me the weapon! 249 

Take this for hindring Mosbies loue and mine. 
(She stabs him.} 
Michaell. 0, Mistres! 
Will. Ah, that villaine wil betray vs all. 
Mos. Tush, feare him not; he will be 

Mic. Why, dost thou think I will betray my 

Sha. In South warke dwels a bonnie north - 

erne lasse, 255 

The widow Chambley; ile to her house now, 
And if she will not giue me harborough, 
He make bootie of the queane euen to her 

Witt. Shift for your selues; we two will 

leaue you now. 

Ales. First lay the bodie in the counting- 
house. 260 
Then they lay the body in the Countinghouse. 

236 Tun liura Qq, dir. sir 237 X. It. lirarkfffd inwh 
<1J. \\'P 238 vet otn. 03 247-50 S. fi. D. add. T 
257 And] Ind Q 1 



ACT V, Sc. I. 

Will We haue our gould; mistris Ales, 


losbie, farewell, and Michaell, farewell too. 


Enter Susan. 

Susan. Mistres, the guests are at the doores. 

tear ken, they knocke: what, shall I let them 

in? 264 

Ales. Mosbie, go thou & beare them eom- 

panie. [Exit M. 

Lnd, susan, fetch water and wash away this 

Susan. The bloode cleaueth to the ground 

& will not out. 
Ales. But with my nailes ile scrape away 

the blood; 
lie more I striue, the more* the blood ap- 


Susan. Whats the reason, M(istris), can 
you tell? 270 

Ales. Because I blush not at my husbands 

Here enters Mosbie. 
Mos. How now? whats the matter? is all 


Ales. I, wel, if Arden were aliue againe. 
n vaine we striue, for here his blood remains. 
Mos. Why, strew rushes on it, can you 

not? 275 

'his wench doth nothing: fall vnto the worke. 

Ales. Twas thou that made me murther 


Mos. What of that? 
Ales. Nay, nothing, Mosbie, so it be not 

Mos. Keepe thou it close, and tis vnpos- 

sible. 280 

Ales. Ah, but I can not! was he not slaine 

by me? 

[y husbands death torments me at the hart. 
Mos. It shall not long torment thee, gentle 

am thy husband, thinke no more of him. 

Here enters Adam fowle and Brad. 
Brad. How now, M(istris) Arden? what 

ayle you weepe? 285 

Mos. Because her husband is abroad so 


cupple of Ruffins threatned him yesternight, 
nd she, poore soule, is affraid he should be 

Adam. 1st nothing -els? tush, hele be here 


2?>1 Prefix Alice Q 3 

Here enters Greene. 
Gre. Now, M(istris) Arden, lacke you any 

guests ? 290 

Ales. Ah, M(aister) Greene, did you se 

my husband lately ? 
Gre. I saw him walking behinde the Abby 

euen now. 

Here enters Francklin. 
Ales. I do not like this being out so late. 
M(aister) Francklin, where did you leaue my 


Fra. Beleeue me I saw him not since 

Morning. 295 

Feare you not, hele come anone; meane time 

You may do well to bid his guests sit down. 

Ales. I, so they shall; M' s aister) Bradshaw, 

sit you there; 

I pray you, be content, lie haue my will. 299 

M(aister) Mosbie, sit you in my husbands seat. 

Michaell. Susan, shall thou and I wait on 


Or, and thou saist the word, let vs sit down too. 
Sa. Peace, we haue other matters now in 


I feare me, Michael, al wilbe bewraied. 304 
Mic. Tush, so it be knowne that I shal 
marry thee in the morning, I care not though 
I be hangde ere night. 

But to preuent the worst, He by some rats bane. 
Su. Why, Michael, wilt thou poyson thy 


M ic. No, but my mistres, for I feare shele 

tell. 310 

Su. Tush, Michel; feare not her, she's 

wise enough. 

Mos. Sirra Michell, giues a cup of beare. 
M(istris) Arden, heers to your husband. 
Ales. My husband! 

Fra. What ailes you, woman, to crie so 

suddenly? 315 

Ales. Ah, neighbors, a sudden qualm 

came ouer my hart; 

My husbands being foorth torments my mynde. 
I know some thing's amisse, he is not well; 
Or els I should haue heard of him ere now. 
Mo. She will vndo vs through her fool- 
ishnes. 320 

Gre. Feare not, M(istris) Arden, he's well 


Ales. Tell not me; I know he is not well: 
He was not wount for to stay thus late. 
Good M(aister) Francklin, go and seeke him 
foorth, 3 2 4 

And if you finde him, send him home to mee, 
305-7 Yo-se Qq, da: the 317 deing Q 1 



And tell him what a feare he hath put me in. 
p ra. I lyke not this; I pray God all be well. 
He seeke him out, and find him if I can. 

[Exeunt Fra., Mos., & Ore. 
Ales. Michaell, how shall I doo to rid the 

rest away? 

M ic. Leaue that to my charge, let me 
alone. 33 

Tis very late, M(aister) Bradshaw, 
And there are many false knaues abroad, 
And you haue many narrow lanes to pas. 
Brad. Faith, frend Michaell, and thou 

saiest trew. 

Therefore I pray thee lights foorth and lends 

a linck. 335 

[Exeunt Brad., Adam, & Michael. 

Ales. Michael, bring them to the dores, but 

doo not stay; 

You know I do not loue to be alone. 
Go, Susan, and bid thy brother come: 
But wherefore should he come? Heere is 

nought but feare; 

Stay, Susan, stay, and helpe to counsell me. 340 
Susan. Alas, I counsell! feare frights away 

my wits. 
Then they open the countinghouse doore and 

looke vppon Arden. 
Ales. See, Susan, where thy quandam 

Maister lyes, 

Sweete Arden, smeard in bloode and filthy gore. 
Susan. My brother, you, and I shall rue 

this deede. 

Ales. Come, susan, help to lift his body 
forth, 345 

And let our salt teares be his obsequies. 

Here enters Mosbie and Greene. 
Mos. How now, Ales, whether will you 

beare him? 
Ales. Sweete Mosbie, art thou come? Then 

weepe that will: 

I haue my wishe in that I ioy thy sight. 
Gre. Well, it houes vs to be circumspect. 350 
Mos. I, for Francklin thinks that we haue 

murthred him. 

Ales. I, but he can not proue it for his lyfe. 
Wele spend this night in daliance and in sport. 

Here enters Michaell. 

Mic. mistres, the Maior and all the watch 

Are comming towards our house with glaues 

& billes. 355 

Ales. Make the dore fast; let them not come 

S. D. fylloivs 327 Qq 333 narrow om. Q .? 3.15 
ighfs '. . lend's Q "J 34:1 filtliy ow. Q ff. .9 H48 
rico lines Qq, rf/r. come 354 all om. Q :t 

Mos. Tell me, swete Ales, how shal I 

Ales. Out at the back dore, ouer the pyle 

of woode, 

And for one night ly at the floure de luce. 
Mos. That is the next way to betray my 
selfe. 360 

Gre. Alas, M;istris) Arden, the watch will 

take me here, 

And cause suspition, where els would be none. 
Ales. Why, take that way that M(aister) 

Mosbie doeth; 

But first conuey the body to the fields. 
Then they beare the body into the fields. 

Mos. Vntil to morrow, sweete Ales, now 
farewel: 365 

And see you confesse nothing in any case. 
Gre. Be resolute, M(istris) Ales, betray vs 

But cleaue to vs as we wil stick to you. 

[Exeunt Mosbie & Grene. 

Ales. Now, let the iudge and iuries do their 

worst: 3 6 9 

My house is cleare, and now I feare them not. 

Susan. As we went, it snowed al the way, 

Which makes me feare our footesteps will be 

Ales. Peace, f oole, the snow wil couer them 

Susan. But it had done before we came 

back againe. 

Ales. Hearke, hearke, they knocke! go, 
Michaell, let them in. 375 

Here enters the Maior and the Watch. 
How now, M aister Maior, haue you brought 

my husband home? 
Maior. I sawe him come into your house 

an hour agoe. 

Ales. You are deceiued; it was a Londoner. 
Maior. Mistres Arden, know you not one 

that is called blacke Will? 
Ales. I know none such: what meane 
these questions? 380 

Maior. I haue the counsels warrand to 

aprehend him. 

Ales. I am glad it is no worse. 
Why, M(aister) maior, thinke you I harbour 

any such? 

Ma. We are informd that here he is; 
And therefore pardon vs, for we must search. 
Ales. I, search, and spare you not, through 
euery roome: 3 86 

Were my husband at home, you would not 
offer this. 

375 Tiro linrs Qq, (!:>. knooke 



ACT V, St. III. 

Here enters Francklin. 
M(aister) Francklin, what meane you come so 

Fra. Arden, thy husband and my freend, 

is slaine. 

Ales. Ah! by whome? M(aister) Francklin, 
can you tell? 39 o 

Fra. I know not; but behind the abby 
There he lyes murthred in most pittious 

Mai. But, M(aister) Francklin, are you sure 

tis he? 
Fra. I am too sure; would God I were 


Ales. Finde out the Murthrers, let them be 

knowne. 395 

Fran. I, so they shall; come you along with 


Ales. Wherefore? 
Fran. Know you this handtowel and this 


Su. Ah, michael, through this thy negli 

u hast betraied and vndone vs all. 400 
Mic. I was so affraide I knew not what I 

[ thought I had throwne them both into the 

Ales. It is the pigs bloode we had to 

iut wherfore stay you? finde out the mur- 


Ma. I feare me youle proue one of them 

your selfe. 405 

Ales. I one of them? what meane such 

Fra. I feare me he was murthred in this 


id carried to the fields; for from that place 
Backwards and forwards may you see 
" le print of many feete within the snow. 410 
id looke about this chamber where we are, 
id you shall finde part of his giltles bloode; 
'or in his slipshoe did I finde some rushes, 
rrL ich argueth he was murthred in this roome. 

Ales. Ah, M(aister) Francklin, God and 

heauen can tell 

I loued him more than all the world beside. 
But bring me to him, let me see his body. 
Fra. Bring that villaine and mosbies sister 
too; 42S 

And one of you go to the flowre de luce, 
And seeke for mosbie, and apprehend him to. 



An obscure street in London.) 
Here enters shakebag solus. 
Sh. The widdow chambly, in her husbands 

I kept; and now he's dead, she is growne so 


She will not know her ould companions. 
I came thither, thinking to haue had 
Harbour as I was wount, 5 

And she was ready to thrust me out at doores; 
But whether she would or no, I got me vp, 
And as she followed me, I spurnd her down 

the staires, 
And broke her neck, and cut her tapsters 

And now I am going to fling them in the 

Temes. 10 

I haue the gould; what care I though it bd 

knowne 1 
lie crosse the water and take sanctuary. 

[Exit shakbag. 

(SCENE m. 

Arden's House at Feversham.} 
Here enters the Maior, Mosbie, Ales, Francklin, 

Michaell, and Susan. 
Maior. See, M(istris) Arden, where your 

husband lyes; 

Confesse this foule fault and be penitent. 
Ales. Arden, sweete husband, what shall 

I say? 

The more I sound his name, the more he 
uivu aiguem ue was muruireu in uns roome. bleedes; 

Ma. Looke in the place where he was wont This bloode condemnes me, and in gushing 
to sit. 415 foorth 5 

. see! his blood! it is too manifest. j Speakes as it fallcs, and askes me why I did it. 

Ales. It is a cup of Wine that michaell shed, j Forgiue me, Arden: I repent me nowe, 

Fran. It is his bloode, which, strumpet, 

thou hast shed. 

lut if I liue, thou and thy complices 420 

"hich haue conspired and wrought his death 

shall rue it. 
393 you o;n. 3 421 Two lines Qj, da: deatli 

T. B. 

And, would my death saue thine, thou shouldst 

not dye. 

Ryse vp, swete Arden, and enioy thy loue, 
And frowne not on me when we mete in 

heauen: 10 

Scene II. etc. adtl. T 1 ends kept Qq 7 got] 
goe3 Scene IIL etc. add. T 

33 c 


In heauen I loue thee, though on earth I did 

Maior. Say, Mosby, what made thee mur- 

ther him? 
Fro. Study not for an answer; looke not 


His pursse and girdle found at thy beds head 
Witnes sufficiently thou didst the deede; 15 
It booties is to sweare thou didst it not. 
Mos. I hyred black Will and Shakebagge, 

Ruffynes both, 

And they and I haue done this murthrous deed. 
But wherefore stay we? Come and beare me 


Fran. Those Ruffins shall not escape; I 

will vp to London, 2 

And get the counsels warrand to apprehend 

them. [Exeunt. 

The Kentish Coast) 

Here enters Will. 

Will. Shakebag, I heare, hath taken sanc 

But I am so pursued with hues and cryes 
For petty robberies that I haue done, 
That I can come vnto no Sanctuary. 
Therefore must I in some Oyster bote 5 

At last be faine to go a boord some Hoye, 
And so to Flushing. There is no staying here. 
At Sittinburgh the watch was like to take me, 
And had I not with my buckler couerd my 


And run full blanck at all aduentures, 10 

I am sure I had nere gone further then that 


For the Constable had 20 warrands to appre 
hend me; 
Besides that, I robbed him and his Man once 

at Gades hill. 
Farewell, England; He to Flushing now. 

[Exit WiU. 


Justice-Room at Feversham.) 
Here enters the Maior, Mosbye, Ales, Michaell, 

Susan, and Bradshaw. 
Maior. Come, make haste & bring away 

the prisoners. 

Brad. M(istris) Arden, you are now going 
to God, 

11 I] I'll T 17 ftro lines Qq 19 Tiro lints Qq 
20 ends escape Qq Scene IV. etc. add. T 8 Sit- 
tingburn J 91 not] not I OS, tic. Scene V. 
ttc. add. T 2 M. Q 1 : Master Q3 

And I am by the law condemned to die 
About a letter I brought from M(aister) 


I pray you, M istris Arden, speak the 
trueth : 5 

Was I euer priuie to your intent or no. 

Ales. What should I say? You brought me 

such a letter, 

But I dare sweare thou knewest not the con 

Leaue now to trouble me with worldly things, 

And let me meditate vpon my sauiour 

Christ, 10 

Whose bloode must saue me for the bloode I 

Mos. How long shall I liue in this hell of 


Conuey me from the presence of that strumpet. 
Ales. Ah, but for thee I had neuer beene 

(a) strumpet. 

What can not oathes and protestations doe, 15 
When men haue opportunity to woe? 
I was too young to sound thy villanies, 
But now I finde it and repent too late. 

Su. Ah, gentle brother, wherefore should 

I die? 

I knew not of it till the deed was don. 20 

Mos. For thee I mourne more then for my 

But let it suffice, I can not saue thee now. 

Mic. And if your brother and my Mistres 
Had not promised me you in marriage, 
I had nere giuen consent to this foule deede. 25 

Maior. Leaue to accuse each other now 
And Us ten to the sentence I shall giue: 
Beare Mosbie and his sister to London straight, 
Where they in smithfield must be executed; 
Beare M(istris) Arden vnto Canterburye, 30 
Where her sentence is she must be burnt; 
Michaell and Bradshaw in Feuershame 
Must suffer death. 

Ales. Let my death make amends for all my 


Mos. Fy vpon women! this shall be my 

song; 35 

But beare me hence, for I haue liued to 

Susan. Seing no hope on earth, in heauen 

is my hope. 
Mic. Faith, I care not, seeing I die with 


Bradshaw. My bloode be on his head that 

gaue the sentence. 39 

Maior. To speedy execution with them all I 


7 Tiro lines Qq 14 a add. J 22 But 0111. J 
32-3 Tiro lines (j:i : OIK tine QJ 34 siniu- <<*'' 



Heere enters Francklin. 
Fran. Thus haue you scene the trueth of 

Ardens death. 

As for the Ruffins, Shakbag and blacke Will, 
The one tooko Sanctuary, and, being sent for 


Was murthred in South wark as he past 4 
To Greenewitch, where the Lord Protector lay. 
Black Will was burnt in Flushing on a stage; 
Greene was hanged at Osbridge in Kent; 
The Painter fled & how he dyed we know not. 

Epilogue : Scene VI WP 
Osbringe J 

6 at a stake J 

But this aboue the rest is to be noted: 

Arden lay murthred in that plot of ground 10 

Which he by force and violence held from 


And in the grasse his bodyes print was seene 
Two yeeres and more alter the deede was 

Gentlemen, we hope youle pardon this naked 


Wherin no filed points are foisted in 1 5 

To make it gratious to the eare or eye; 
For simple trueth is gratious enough, 
And needes no other points of glosing stufie. 




Lamentable Tragedie of 

ari*r,the eldeft fonneof King Brutus -, difcour- 

fing the warres of the Brita/nes^nd Httnncs, 

with their difcomfiture: 

The Britaines vitforie with their Accidents jnd the 

death of Albanatf. NoleJJc (leaf a*t the* 


Newly fetfoorth, ouerfeenc andcorrcdted, 
By vr. s. 


Printed by Thomas Creede. 
i 5 9 f 

Q = Quarto of 1595 
F 1 = (Third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664 
F 2 = (Fourth) 1685 

R - Rowe, 1709 

Pope = Supplement to Pope s Shakespeare, 1728 
M = Malone, 1780 
St = Steevens, ibid. 
Th. = Theobald, ibid. 
S = Simms, 1848 
T = Tyrrell 1851 
Haz. = Hazlitt, 1852 
Mott. = Moltke, 1869 
pr. ed. = present editor 







BRUTUS, King of Britain. 


his Sons. 

THRASIMACHUS, Corineius his Son. 
DEBON, an old Officer. 
HUMBER, King of the Scythians. 
HUBBA, his Son. 

THRASSIER, a Scythian Commander. 



_ f 


GUENDOLINE, Corineius his Daughter, married 

to Locrine. 

ESTRILD, Humber's Wife. 
ATE, the Goddess of Revenge. 

Ghosts of Albanact, and Corineius.) 

The first Act. Prologue. 

Enter Atey with thunder and lightning att in 
black, with a burning torch in one hand, 
and a bloodie swoord in the other hand, and 
presently let there come foorth a Lion run 
ning after a Beare or any other beast; then 
come foorth an Archer who must kill the 
Lion in a dumbe show, and then depart. 
Remaine Atey. 

Atey. In pcenam sectatur & Vmbra. 
A Mightie Lion, ruler of the woods, 
Of wondrous strength and great proportion, 
With hideous noyse scarring the trembling 


With yelling clamors shaking all the earth, 
Trauerst the groues, and chast the wandring 

beasts. 5 

Long did he raunge amid the shadie trees, 
And draue the silly beasts before his face, 
When suddeinly from out a thornie bush, 
A dreadfull Archer with his bow ybent, 
Wounded the Lion with a dismall shaft. 10 
So he him stroke that it drew forth the blood, 
And fild his furious heart with fretting yre; 
But all in vaine he threatneth teeth and pawes, 
And sparkleth fire from forth his flaming 


Drninatts Perxonm mW. Roice i>'. D. Prologue] 
Scene 1 Q 11 strook // 

For the sharpe shaft gaue him a mortall 
wound. 15 

So valiant Brute, the terror of the world, 
Whose only lookes did scarre his enemies, 
The Archer death brought to his latest end. 
Oh what may long abide aboue this ground, 
In state of blisse and healthfull happinesse. 20 


The first Ad. Scene 1. 
Enter Brutus carried in a chaire, Locrine, 
Camber, Albanact, Corineius, Guendelin, 
Assaracus, Debon, Thrasimachus. 
Brutus. Most loyall Lords and faithful fol 

That haue with me, vnworthie Generall, 
Passed the greedie gulfe of Ocean, 
Leauing the confines of faire Italic, 
Behold, your Brutus draweth nigh his end, 5 
And I must leaue you, though against my 


My sinewes shrunke, my numbed sences faile, 
A chilling cold possesseth all my bones; 
Blacke vgly death, with visage pale and 


Presents himself e before my dazeled eies, 10 
And with his dart prepared is to strike. 
These armes my Lords, these neuer daunted 
S. D. Scene 1] Scene 2 Q 7 shrink .V 

ACT I, Sc. I. 


That oft haue queld the courage of my foes, 
And eke dismayd my neighbours arrogancie, 
Now yeeld to death, orelaid with crooked age, 
Deuoyd of strength and of their proper force, 
Euen as the lustie cedar worne with yeares, 1 7 
That farre abroad her daintie odore throwes, 
Mongst all the daughters of proud Lebanon. 
This heart, my Lords, this neare appalled heart, 
That was a terror to the bordring lands, 21 
A dolefull scourge vnto my neighbor Kings, 
Now by the weapons of vnpartiall death, 
Is cloue asunder and bereft of life, 
As when the sacred oake with thunderbolts, 
Sent from the fiery circuit of the heauens, 26 
Sliding along the aires celestiall valts, 
Is rent and clouen to the verie rootes. 
In vaine, therefore, I strangle with this foe; 
Then welcome death, since God will haue it so. 
Assar. Alasse, my Lord, we sorrow at your 

case, 3 1 

And greeue to see your person vexed thus; 
But what so ere the fates determine! haue, 
It lieth not in vs to disanull, 
And he that would annihillate his minde, 35 
Soaring with Icarus too neare the Sunne, 
May catch a fall with yoong Bellerophon. 
For when the fatall sisters haue decreed 
To seperate vs from this earthly mould, 
No mortall force can countermaund their 

minds: 40 

Then, worthie Lord, since ther's no way but 

Cease your laments, and leaue your grieuous 

Corin. Your highnesse knows how many 


How many trophees I erected haue 
Tryumphantly in euery place we came. 45 
The Grecian Monarke, warlike Pandrassus, 
And all the crew of the Molossians; 
Goffarius, the arme strong King of Gaules, 
And all the borders of great Aquitane, 
Haue Mt the force of our victorious armes, 
And to their cost beheld our chiualrie. 51 

Where ere Aurora, handmayd of the Sunne, 
Where ere the Sun, bright gardiant of the 


Where ere the ioyfull day with chearfull light, 
Where ere the light illuminates the world, 55 
The Troyans glorie flies with golden wings, 
Wings that do soare beyond fell enuies flight. 
The fame of Brutus and his followers 
Pearceth the skies, and with the skies the 


29 strangle Q : struggle Ff, etc. 35 their minds 
JHf 49 om. Ff, etc. 52 Ancora Q 53 Sun- 
bright Q 55 world] word Q 57 enuious Q, Ff 

Of mightie loue, Commaunder of the world. 60 
Then worthie Brutus, leaue these sad laments; 
Comfort your selfe with this your great re- 


And feare not death though he seeme terrible. 
Brutus. Nay, Corin(e)us, you mistake my 


In construing wrong the cause of my com 
plaints. 65 
I feard to yeeld my selfe to fatall death! 
God knowes it was the least of all my 

thought(s) ; 

A greater care torments my verie bones, 
And makes me tremble at the thought of it, 
And in you, Lordings, doth the substance 

lie. 70 

Th~asi. Most noble Lord, if ought your 

loyall peers 

Accomplish may, to ease your lingring grief, 
I, in the name of all, protest to you, 
That we will boldly enterprise the same, 
Were it to enter to black Tartarus, 75 

Where triple Cerberus with his venomous 

Scarreth the ghoasts with high resounding 


Wele either rent the bowels of the earth, 
Searching the entrailes of the brutish earth, 
Or, with his Ixions ouerdaring sonne, 80 

Be bound in chaines of euerduring steele. 
Bru. Then barken to your soueraigns latest 


In which I will vnto you all vnfold 
Our royall mind and resolute intent : 
When golden Hebe, daughter to great lone, 
Couered my manly cheeks with youthful 

downe, 86 

Th' vnhappie slaughter of my lucklesse sire, 
Droue me and old Assar achus, mine eame, 
As exiles from the bounds of Italy: 
So that perforce we were constraind to flie 90 
To Grcecias Monarke noble Pandrassus. 
There I alone did vndertake your cause, 
There I restord your antique libertie, 
Though Grecia fround, and all Mollossia 


Though braue Antigonus, with martiall band, 
In pitched field encountred me and mine, 9* 
Though Pandrassus and his contributories, 
With all the rout of their confederates, 
Sought to deface our glorious memorie 
And wipe the name of Troians from the 

earth. 100 

Him did I captiuate with this mine arme, 
And by compulsion forest him to agree 

67 thought nil alii. 80 son J/ : soone Q : soon 
Ff 91 Graeeians Q, Ff 



ACT I, Sc. I. 

To certain artickles which there we did pro 

From Grcecia through the boisterous Helles 

We came vnto the fields of Lestrigon, 105 
Whereas our brother Corineius was. 
Since when we passed the Cicillian gulfe, 
And so transfretting the Illirian sea, 
Arriued on the coasts of Aquitane, 
Where with an armie of his barbarous Gunles 
Goffarius and his brother Gathelus in 

Encountring with our boast, sustaind the 


And for your sakes my Turnus there I lost, 
Turnus that slew six hundreth men at armes 
All in an houre, with his sharpe battle-axe. 
From thence vpon the strons of Albion 116 
To Corus hauen happily we came, 
And queld the giants, comme of Albions race, 
With Gogmagog sonne to Samotheus, 
The cursed Captaine of that damned crew. 1 20 
And in that lie at length I placed you. 
Now let me see if my laborious toiles, 
If all my care, if all my greeuous wounds, 
If all my diligence were well imploid. 

Corin. When first I followed thee & thine, 
braue king, 1 23 

I hazarded my life and dearest blood, 
To purchace fauour at your princely hands, 
And for the same in daungerous attempts 
In sundry conflicts and in diuers broiles, 
I shewd the courage of my manly mind. 130 
For this I combated with Gathelus, 
The brother to Goffarius of Gaule; 
For this I fought with furious Gogmagog, 
A sauage captaine of a sauage crew; 134 

And for these deeds braue Cornwale I receiu'd, 
A grate full gift giuen by a gratious King; 
And for this gift, this life and dearest blood, 
Will Corineus spend for Brutus good. 

Deb. And what my trend, braue prince, 

hath voud to you, 

The same wil Debon do vnto his end. 140 

Bru. Then, loyall peeres, since you are all 


And resolute to follow Brutus hoasts, 
Fauour my sonnes, fauour these Orphans, 

And shield them from the daungers of their 


Locrine, the columne of my familie, 1 45 

And onely piller of my weakned age, 
Locrine, draw neare, draw neare vnto thy sire, 
And take thy latest blessings at his hands: 

10:5 which there out. M 107 Since M : Which Q, Ff 
f.'ilician M 108 transfreighting Molt. Illician 0, 

Ff 116 stronds Ff 118 conuie Q 

142 hests Jf 

And for thou art the eldest of my sonnes, 
Be thou a captaine to thy bretheren, 159 
And imitate thy aged fathers steps, 
Which will conduct thee to true honors gate; 
For if thou follow sacred vertues lore, 
Thou shalt be crowned with a lawrell braunch, 
And weare a wreath of sempiternall fame, 
Sorted amongst the glorious happie ones. 150 
Locrin. If Locrine do not follow your 


And beare himselfe in all things like a prince 
That seekes to amplifie the great renowne 
Left vnto him for an inheritage 160 

By those that were his ancestors, 
Let me be flung into the Ocean, 
And swallowed in the bowels of the earth, 
Or let the ruddie lightning of great loue 
Descend vpon this my deuoted head. 165 

Brutus (taking Guendoline by the hand). 

But for I see you all to be in doubt, 
Who shall be matched with our royall sonne, 
Locrine, receiue this present at my hand, 
A gift more rich then are the wcalihie mines 
Found in the bowels of America. 170 

Thou shalt be spoused to faire Guendoline; 
Loue her, and take her, for she is thine 


If so thy vnckle and her selfe do please. 
Corin. And herein how your highnes honors 


It cannot (now) be in my speech exprest ; 175 
For carefull parents glorie not so much 
At their honour and promotion, 
As for to see the issue of their blood 
Seated in honor and prosperitie. 

Guend. And far be it from any maydens 

thoughts i So 

To contradict her aged fathers will. 
Therefore, since he to whom I must obey 
Hath giuen me now vnto your royall selfe, 
I will not stand aloofe from off the lure, 
Like craftie dames that most of all deny 185 
That which they most desire to possesse. 
Brutus (turning to Locrine. Locrine kneel- 

ing). Then now, my sonne, thy part is 

on the stage, 
For thou must beare the person of a King. 

[Puts the Crowne on his head. 
Locrine, stand vp, and weare the regall 


And thinke vpon the state of Maiestie, 190 
That thou with honor well maist weare the 

And if thou tendrest these my latest words, 

161 his] his glorious M 165 denolted Q 175 
now add. Ff 177 their] their own M 180 any 

conj. Th : niy Q : my pure Ff Maiden Ff 

c 3 

ACT I, Sc. I. 


As thou requirst my soule to be at rest, 
As thou desirest thine owne securitie, 
Cherish and loue thy new betrothed wife. 195 
Locrin. No longer let me wel enioy the 


Then I do (honour) peerlesse Gaendoline. 
Brat. Camber. 
Cam. My Lord. 

Brat. The glorie of mine age, 

And darling of thy mother Imogen, 
Take thou the South for thy dominion. 200 
From thes there shall proseed a royall race, 
That shall maintains the honor of this land, 
And sway the regall scepter with their hands. 
[Turning to Albanact. 
And Albanact, thy fathers onely ioy, 
Yoongst in yeares, but not the yoongst in mind, 
A perfect patterne of all chiualrie, 206 

Take thou the North for thy dominion, 
A country full of hills and ragged rockes, 
Replenished with fearce vntamei beasts, 
As correspondent to thy martial! thought?. 
Liue long, my sonnes, with endlesse happi- 

nesse, 211 

And beare firme concordance amongst your 


Obey the counsels of these fathers graue, 
That you may better beare out violence. 
But suddeinly, through weaknesse of my age, 
And the defect of youthfull puissance, 216 
My maladie increaseth more and more, 
And cruell death hastneth hh quicknei pace, 
To dispossesse me of my earthly shape. 
Mine eies wax dimme, ouercast with clouds of 

age, 220 

The pangs of death compasse my crazed 

bones ; 

Thus to you all my blessings I bequeath, 
And with my blessings, this my fleeting soule. 
My glasse is runne, and all my miseries 224 
Do end with life; death closet h vp mine eies, 
My soule in haste flies to the Elisian fields. 

[He dieth. 
Loc. Accursed starres, damd and accursed 


To abreuiate my noble fathers life! 
Hard-harted gods, and too enuious fates, 
Thus to cut off my fathers fatall thred! 230 
Brutus, that was a glorie to vs all, 
Brutus, that was a terror to his foes, 
Alasse, too soone, by Demagorgons knife, 
The martiall Brutus is bereft of life! 

197 do honour peerlesse M: do peerlesse Ff- 
do honour Hnz. 199 luno.ger 0, Ff: corr Th 

203 And] That Q, Ff 204 onely] other conj. S 

212 concordance firm among S 229 and re 

too S 

Corin. No sad complaints may moue iust 

Aeacns, 235 

No dreadfull threats can feare iudge Rho- 


Wert thou as strong as mightie Hercules, 
That tamde the hugie monsters of the world, 
Plaidst thou as sweet, on the sweet sounding 


As did the spouse of faire Euridise, 240 

That did enchant the waters with his noise, 
And made stones, birds, and beasts, to lead a 


Constraind the hillie trees to follow him, 
Thou couldst not moue the iudge of Erebus, 
Nor moue compassion in grimme Plutos 

heart; 245 

For fatall M ors expecteth all the world, 
And euerie man must tread the way of death. 
Braue Tantalus, the valiant Pelops sire, 
Guest to the gods, suffred vntimely death, 
And old Tithonus, husband to the morne, 250 
And eke grim Minos, whom iust lupiter 
Deigned to admit vnto his sacrifice. 
The thundring trumpets of blood-thirstie Mars. 
The fearfull rage of fell Tisiphone, 
The boistrous waues of humid Ocean, 255 
Are instruments and tooles of dismall death. 
Then, noble cousin, cease to mourne his 

Whose age & yeares were signes that he shuld 


It resteth now that we interre his bones, 
That was a terror to his enemies. 260 

Take vp the coarse, and, princes, hold him 


Who while he liu'd, vpheld the Troyan state. 
Sound drums and trumpets; march to Troi- 

There to prouide our chieftaines funerall. 


The first Act. Scene 2. 

(The house of Strumbo.) 

Enter Strumbo aboue in a gowne, with inke and 

paper in his hand, saying: 
Strum. Either the foure elements, the seuen 
planets, and all the particuler starres of the 
pole Antastick, are aduersatiue against me, or 
e'se I was begotten and borne in the wane 
of the Moone, when euerie thing as Lactantius 
in his fourth booke of Constultations dooth 
say, goeth asward. I, maisters, I, you may 
laugh, but I must weepe; you may ioy, but I 

2.15 Pnfjc Corin. prtctdts 236 in 1 acns Q. Ff 
236 just Hnz. 2.38 lingest S 240 Etr idies Q 

244 Ciebus 0, Ff S. D. Scene2]Peene 3 Q Brni-Mtd 
word* add. 1 3 Antarctic T 5 as] as saith Q 



ACT I, Sc. II. 

must sorrow; sheading salt teares from the 
watrie fountaines oi my moste daintie faire 
eies, along my comely and smooth cheeks, in 
as great plentie as the water runneth from the 
buckingtubbes, or red wine out of the hogs 
heads: for trust me, gentlemen and my verie 
good friends, and so foorth, the little god, nay 
the desperate god Cuprit, with one of his ven- 
gible birdbolts, hath shot me vnto the heele: 
so not onlie, but also, oh fine phrase, I burne, 
I burne, and I burne a, in loue, in loue, and in 
loue a. Ah, Slrumbo, what hast thou seen? not 
Dina with the Asse Tom? Yea, with these 
eies thou hast seene her, and therefore pull 
them out, for they will worke thy bale. Ah, 
Strumbo, hast thou heard? not the voice of 
the Nightingale, but a voice sweeter then hers. 
Yea, with these eares hast thou heard it, 
and therefore cut them off, for they haue 
causde thy sorrow. Nay, Strumbo, kill thy 
self e, drowne thy selfe, hang thy selfe, sterue 
thy selfe. Oh, but then I shall leaue my sweet 
heart. Oh my heart! Now, pate, for thy 
maister! I will dite an aliquant loue-pistle to 
her, and then she hearing the grand verbositie 
of my scripture, will loue me presently. 34 
[Let him write a litle and then read. 
My penne is naught; gentlemen, lend me a 
knife. I thinke the more haste the worst 
speed. 37 

[Then write againe, and after read. 

So it is, mistresse Dorothie, and the sole 
essence of my soule, that the little sparkles of 
affection kindled in me towards your sweet selfe 
hath now increased to a great flame, and will 
ere it be long consume my poore heart, except 
you, with the pleasant water of your secret foun- 
taine, quench the furious heate of the same. 
Alasse, I am a gentleman of good fame and 
name, maiesticall, in parrell comely, in gate 
portlie. Let not therefore your gentle heart be 
so hard as to despise a proper tall, yoong man 
of a handsome life, and by despising him, not 
onlie, but also to kill him. Thus expecting time 
and tide, I bid you farewell. Your seruant, 
Signior Strumbo. 52 

Oh wit! Oh pate! memorie! hand! 
incke! paper! Well, now I will send it 
away. Trompart, Trompart! what a villaine is 
this? Why, sirra, come when your maister 
calls you. Trompart! 

Trompart, entring, saith; 
Anon, sir. 

Strumbo. Thou kncwest, my prettie boy, 

what a good maister I haue bene to thee euer 
since I tooke thee into my sendee. 61 

Trom. I, sir. 

Strum. And how I haue cherished thee 
alwaies, as if you had bene the fruit of my 
loines, flesh of my flesh, and bone of my 
bone. 66 

Trom. I, sir. 

Strum. Then shew thy selfe herein a trustie 

seruant, and carrie this letter to mistresse 

Dorothie, and tell her 7 o 

[Speaking in his eare. Exit Trompart. 

Strum. Nay, maisters, you shall see a 
marriage by and by. But here she comes. 
Now must I frame my amorous passions. 

Enter Dorothie and Trompart. 

Doro. Signior Strumbo, well met. I re- 
ceiued your letters by your man here, who told 
mee a pittifull storie of your anguish, and so 
vnderstanding your passions were so great, I 
came hither speedily. 78 

Strum. Oh my sweet and pigsney, the 
fecunditie of my ingenie is not so great, that 
may declare vnto you the sorrowful sobs and 
broken sleeps, that I suffred for your sake; 
and therefore I desire you to receiue me into 
your familiaritie. 

For your loue doth lie, 85 

As neare and as nigh 
Vnto my heart within, 
As mine eye to my nose, 
My legge vnto my hose, 
And my flesh vnto my skin. 90 
Dor. Truly, M(aister) Strumbo, you speake 
too learnedly for mee to vnderstand the drift 
of your mind, and therfore tell your tale 
in plaine termes, and leaue off your darke 
ridles. 95 

Strum. Alasse, mistresse Dorothie, this is 
my lucke, that when I most would, I cannot 
be vnderstood; so that my great learning is 
an inconuenience vnto me. But to speake in 
plaine termes, I Icue you, mistresse Dorothie, 
ii you like to accept me into your familiaritie. 
Dor. If this be all, I am content. 102 

Strum. Saist thou so, sweet wench; let 
me lick thy toes. Farwell, mistresse. 

[Turning to the people.] 

If any of you be in loue, prouide ye a 
capcase full of new coined wordes, and then 
shall you soone haue the succado de labres, and 
something else. [Exeunt. 

IGCiipritow. H'.., Molt. 24 liast] what hast J/ (H you had] thou hadst Fj 
20 it J/ : them Q, Ff 36 worse M 102 <? 


104 S. D. after 

ACT I, Sc. III. 


The first Act. Scene 3. 

(An apartment in the palace.} 

Enter Locrine, Guendoline, Camber, Albanact, 

Corineus, Assaracus, Debon, Thrasimachus. 

Locrine. Vncle, and princes of braue 


Since that our noble father is intombd, 
As best beseemd so braue a prince as he, 
If so you please, this day my loue and I, 
Within the temple of Concordia, 5 

Will solemnize our roiall marriage. 

Thru. Right noble Lord, your subiects 

euery one, 
Must needs obey your highnesse at com- 


Especially in such a cause as this, 
That much concerns your highnesse great 
content. 10 

Locr. Then frolick, lor dings, to fair Con 
cords wals, 

Where we will passe the day in knightly sports, 
The night in dauncing and in figured maskes, 
And offer to God Risus all our sports. [Exeunt. 

The 2. Ad. Prologue. 

Enter Atey as before. After a litle lightning 
and thundring, let there come forth this 
show: Perseus and Andromeda, hand in 
hand, and Cepheus also, with swords and 
targets. Then let there come out of an 
other doore, Phineus, all blacke in armour, 
with Aethiopians after him, driuing in 
Perseus, and hauing taken away Andro 
meda, let them depart, Ate remaining, 

Ate. Regit omnia numen. 
When Perseus married faire Andromeda, 
The onlie daughter of king Cepheus, 
He thought he had establisht well his Crowne, 
And that his kingdome should for aie endure. 

The 1. Scene. 

Enter Humber, Hubba, Estrild, Segar, and 
their souldiers. 

Hum. At length the snaile doth clime the 

highest tops, 

Ascending vp the stately castle walls; 
At length the water with continual! drops, 
Doth penetrate the hardest marble stone; 
At length we are arriued in Albion. 5 

Nor could the barbarous Dacian soueraigne, 
Nor yet the ruler of braue Belgia, 
Staie vs from cutting ouer to this lie, 
Whereas I heare a troope of Phrigians 
Vnder the conduct of Postumius sonne, 10 
Haue pitched vp lordly pauillions, 
And hope to prosper in this louely lie. 
But I will frustrate all their foolish hope, 
And teach them that the Scilhian Emperour 
Leades fortune tied in a chaine of gold, 15 
Constraining her to yeeld vnto his will, 
And grace him with their regall diademe, 
Which I will haue maugre their treble hoasts, 
And all the power their pettie kings can make. 

Hubba. If she that rules faire Rhamnis 
golden gate 20 

Graunt vs the honour of the victorie, 
As hitherto she alwaies fauourd vs, 
Right noble father, we will rule the land, 
Enthronized in seates of Topace stones, 24 
That Locrine and his brethren all may know, 
None must be king but Humber and his sonne. 

Hum. Courage, my sonne, fortune shall 

fauour vs, 

And yeeld to vs the coronet of bay, 
That decketh none but noble conquerours. 
But what saith Estrild to these regions? 30 
How liketh she the temperature thereof? 
Are they not pleasant in her gratious eies? 

Estr. The plaines, my Lord, garnisht with 
Floras welth, 

But, , loe, proud Phineus with a band of men, 6 And ouerspred with party colored flowers, 

Contriu'd of sun -burnt Aethiopians, 
By force of armes the bride he tooke from him, 
And turnd their ioy into a floud of teares. 
So fares it with yoong Locrine and his loue, 10 
He thinkes this marriage tendeth to his weale; 
But this foule day, this foule accursed day, 
Is the beginning of his miseries. 
Behold where Humber and his Scithians 
Approcheth nigh with all his warlike traine. 
I need not, I, the sequel shall declare, 16 

What tragicke chances fall out in this warre. 

S. D. Scene 3] Scene 4 Q P.rncketfd words add. T 
9 cause] case M 14 sports] tasks conj. M S V 
Prologue] Scene 1 Q 1 Composed S 16 shall] 

Do yeeld sweet contentation to my mind. 35 
The aierie hills enclosd with shadie groues, 
The groues replenisht with sweet chirping 


The birds resounding heauenly melodic, 
Are equall to the groues of Thessaly, 39 

Where Phoebus with the learned Ladies nine, 
Delight themselues with musicke harmonic, 
And from the moisture of the mountaine tops, 
The silent springs daunce downe with mur 
muring streams, 43 
And water al the ground with cristal waucs. 
The gentle blasts of Eurus, modest winde, 

The 2. Scene 
I 41 musiek's 31 

13 hopes o 33 Prrfix Astr. 



ACT II, Sc. II. 

Mouing the pittering leaues of Siluanes woods, 
Do equall it with Tempes paradice; 47 

And thus consorted all to one effect, 
Do make me thinke these are the happie lies, 
Most fortunate, if Humber may them winne. 
Hubba. Madam, where resolution leads the 

way, 51 

And courage followes with imboldened pace, 
Fortune can neuer vse her tyrannic; 
For valiantnesse is like vnto a rocke 
That standeth in the waues of Ocean, 55 

Which though the billowes beat on euery side, 
And Boreas fell with his tempestuous stormes 
Bloweth vpon it with a hideous clamour, 
Yet it remaineth still vnmooueable. 

Hum. Kingly resolu'd, thou glorie of thy 

sire. 60 

But, worthie Segar, what vncoth nouelties 
Bringst thou vnto our royall maiestie? 

Seg. My Lord, the yoongest of all Brutus 


Stout Albunud, with millions of men, 
Approcheth nigh, and meaneth, ere the 

morne, 65 

To trie your force by dint of fatall sword. 
Hum. Tut, let him come with millions of 


He shall find entertainment good inough, 
Yea, fit for those that are our enemies: 
For weell receiue them at the launces points, 
And massaker their bodies with our blades : 71 
Yea, though they were in number infinit, 
More then the mightie Babilonian queene, 
Semiramis the ruler of the West, 
Brought gainst the Emperour of the Sci- 

thians; 75 

Yet would we not start back one foote from 


That they might know we are inuincible. 
Hub. Now, by great loue, the supreme 

king of heauen, 

And the immortall gods that Hue therein, 
When as the morning shewes his chearfull 

face, So 

And Lucifer, mounted vpon his steed, 
Brings in the chariot of the golden sunne, 
He meet yoong Albanad in the open field, 
And crack my launce vpon his burganet, 
To trie the valour of his boyish strength. 85 
There will I shew such ruthfull spectacles 
And cause so great effusion of blood, 
That all his boyes shall wonder at my strength: 
As when the warlike queene of Amazon, 
Penthisilea, armed with her launce, 90 

Girt with a corslet of bright shining steele, 

40 ].atteriiif,' T 
Vj Ji 13oiT;is ij 

Coupt vp the fainthart Grecians in the 

Hum. Spoke like a warlike knight, my 

noble son; 

Nay, like a prince that seekes his fathers ioy. 
Therefore, to morrow, ere faire Titan shine, 
And bash full Eos, messenger of light, 96 

Expells the liquid sleep from out mens eyes, 
Thou shalt conduct the right wing of the hoste; 
The left wing shall be vnder Segars charge, 
The reareward shall be vnder me my selfe. 100 
And lonely Estrild, faire and gratious, 
If fortune fauour me in mine attempts, 
Thou shalt be queene of louely Albion. 
Fortune shall fauour me in mine attempts, 
And make the Queene ofiouely Albion. 105 
Come, let vs in and muster vp our traine, 
And furnish vp our lustie souldiers, 
That they may be a bullwarke to our state, 
And bring our wished ioyes to perfect end. 

The 2. Scene. 

Enter Strumbo, Dorothie, Trompart, cabling 
shooes and singing. To them enter Captain.} 
Trum. We Coblers lead a merie life: 
All. Dan, dan, dan, dan: 
Strum. Void of all enuie and of strife: 
All. Dan diddle dan. 

Dcr. Our ease is great, our labour small: 5 
All. Dan, dan, dan, dan. 
Strum. And yet our gaines be much withall : 
All. Dan diddle dan. 
Dor. With this art so fine and faire: 
All. Dan, dan, dan, dan. 10 

Trum. No occupation may compare: 
All. Dan diddle dan. 
Dor. For merie pastime and ioyfull glee : 

Dan, dan, dan, dan. 
Strum. Most happie men we Coblers bee: 15 

Dan diddle dan. 
Trum. The can stands full of nappie ale: 

Dan, dan, dan, dan: 
Strum. In our shop still withouten faile: 

Dan diddle dan. 20 

Dor. This is our meate, this is our focde: 

Dan, dan, dan, dan: 
Trum. This brings vs to a mery mood: 

Dan didle dan. 
Strum. This makes vs worke for companie: 

Dan, dan, dan, dan: 26 

Dor. To pull the tankards cheerfully: 

Dan didle dan. 
Trum. Drinke to thy husband, Dorothie, 

Dan, dan, dan, dan: 3 

48 consortftl ;,' : comforted Q. :5 t-nnie (} IS Prejijc Strum. If/ore 13, Dor. If/ore 
83 the uin. T SJ Amazon* M l.'j Q, /'/': on;-. M 


ACT II, Sc. II. 


Dor. Why, then, my Strumbo, ther's to thee: 
Dan didle dan: 

Strum. Drinke thou the rest, Trumpart, 

Dan, dan, dan, dan. 

Dor. When that is gone, weell flit againe: 
Dan didle dan. 36 

Cap. The poorest state is farthest from 


How merily he sitteth on his stoole! 
But when he sees that needs In must be prest, 
Heele turne his note and sing another tune. 40 
Ho, by your leaue, maister Cobler. 

Stru. You are welcom, gentleman. What 
wil you? any olda shooes or buskins? or will 
you haue your shooes clouted? I will do them 
as well as any Cobler in Cathnes whatsoeuer. 

Captaine, shewing him presse mony. 
maister Cobler, you are farre deceiued in mee, 
for don you see this? I come not to buy any 
shooes, but to buy your selfe; come, sir, you 
must be a souldier in the kings cause. 50 

Strum. Why, but heare you, sir; has your 
king any commission to take any man against 
his will. I promise you, I can scant beleeue it; 
or did hee giue you commission? 54 

Cap. sir, ye neede not care for that; I 
neede no commission. Hold, here: I com 
mand you, in the name of our king Albanact, 
to appeare to morrow in the towne -house of 
Cathnes. 5 9 

Strum. King Nactaball! I crie God 
mercy! what haue we to doo with him, or he 
with vs? But you, sir master capontaile, draw 
your pastebourd, or else I promise you, He 
giue you a canuasado with a bastinado ouer 
your shoulders, and teach you to come hither 
with your implements. 66 

Cap. I pray thee, good fellow, be content; 
I do the kings commaund. 

Strum. Put me out of your booke, then. 

Cap. I may not. 

Strumbo, snatching vp a staffe. No! Well, 
come, sir, will your stomacke serue you? 
by gogs blew hood and haiidom, I will haue 
a bout with you. 7 4 

Fight both. 

Enter Thrasimachus. 
How now, what noyse, what sodain clamors 

How now, my captain and the cobler so hard 

at it? 
Sirs, what is your quarrell? 77 

31 here's Molt. 48 don't X 60 Nactabell 
F L. _ 62 capoutaile Q 64 bastinano Q 71 Well] 
76 Tito lines, die. nfler now M 


62 capoutaile 
? 74 about Q,F1 

Cap. Nothing, sir, but that he will not take 
presse mony. 

Thra. Here, good fellow; take it at my 

Vnlesse you meane to be stretcht. 81 

Strum. Truly, master gentleman, I lacke 
no mony; if you please, I will resigne it to 
one of these poore fellowes. 

Thrasi. No such matter, 85 

Looke you be at the common house to morrow. 

[Exit Thrasimachus and the captaine. 

Strum. O, wife, I haue spunne a faire 
thredde! If I had bene quiet, I had not bene 
prest, and therefore well may I wayment. But 
come, sirrha, shut vp, for we must to the 
warres. [Exeunt. 

The 3. Scene. 

(The camp of Albanact.) 

Enter Albanact, Debon, Thrasimachus, 

and the Lords. 

Alba. Braue cauileres, princes of Albany, 
Whose trenchant blades with our deceased sire, 
Passing the frontiers of braue Grcecia, 
Were bathed in our enemies lukewarme blood, 
Now is the time to manifest your wills, 5 

Your hautie mindes and resolutions. 
Now opportunitie is off red 
To trie your courage and your earnest zeale, 
Which you alwaies protest to Albanact; 
For at this time, yea, at this present time, 10 
Stout fugitiues, come from the Scithians 


Haue pestred euerie place with mutinies. 
But trust me, Lordings, I will neuer cease 
To persecute the rascal! runnagates, 
Till all the riuers, stained with their blood, 15 
Shall fully shew their fatall ouerthrow. 
Deb. So shal your highnes merit great 

And imitate your aged fathers steppes. 

Alba. But tell me, cousin, camst thou 

through the plaines? 

And sawst thou there the faint heart fugitiues 
Mustring their weather-beaten souldiers? 21 
What order keep they in their marshalling? 

Thra. After we past the groues of Caledone, 
Where murmuring riuers slide with silent 


We did behold the stragling Scithians campe, 
Repleat with men, storde with munition; 26 
There might we see the valiant minded knights 
Fetching carreers along the spatious plaines. 

S. D. Tlie 4. Scene Q lirnrkftfd teordvadd. T 28 
carriers Q, Ff: con: in id. of 1728 and independently 



.A- 1 1, St. IV. 

Humber and Hubba arm'd in azure blew, 
Mounted vpon their coursers white as snow, 30 
Went to behold the pleasant flowring fields; 
Hector and Troialus, Priamus louely sonnes, 
Chasing the Graecians ouer Simoeis, 
Were not to be compared to these two knights. 
Alba. Well hast thou painted out in elo 
quence 35 
The portraiture of Humber and his sonne, 
As fortunate as was PoUcrates; 
Yet should they not escape our conquering 

Or boast of ought but of our clemencie. 

Enter Strumbo and Trompart, crying often; 
Wilde fire and pitch, wilde fire and pitch, &c. 
Thru. What, sirs ! what mean you by these 
clamors made, 40 

Those outcries raised in our stately court? 
Strum. Wilde fire and pitch, wilde fire and 

Thra. Villaines, I say, tell vs the cause 


Strum. Wilde fire and pitch, &c. 

. Thra. Tell me, you villaines, why you make 

this noise, 45 

Or with my launce I will prick your bowels out. 

Al Where are your houses, wher's your 

dwelling place? 

Strum. Place? Ha, ha, ha! laugh a 
moneth and a day at him. Place! I cry God 
mercy: why, doo you think that such poore 
honest men as we be, hold our habitacles in 
kings pallaces? Ha, ha, ha! But because you 
seeme to be an abhominable chieftaine, I wil 
tel you our state. 54 

From the top to the toe, 
From the head to the shoe; 
From the beginning to the ending, 
From the building to the burning. 58 

This honest fellow and I had our mansion 

cottage in the suburbes of this citie, hard by 

the temple of Mercury. And by the common 

souldiers of the Shitens, the Scithians what 

do you call them? with all the suburbes were 

burnt to the ground, and the ashes are left 

there, for the countrie wiues to wash buckes 

withall. 66 

And that which greeues me most, 

My louing wife, 

(0 cruell strife!) 

The wicked flames did roast. 70 

And therefore, captaine crust, 

37 M thinks a line lifts beot lost 1#fore (his aixl sug 
gests: But were they brave as Phtliia's arm-strong 
chief 38 shall T 58 brenning coitj. Tit : 

brending T 67-70 Prose in-Q, Ff -.con: M 

We will continuallie crie, 
Except you seeke a reniedie 
Our houses to reedifie 
Which now are burnt to dust. 75 

Both cry: Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and 


Alba. Well, we must remedie these out 

And throw reuenge vpon their hatefull heads. 
And you, good fellowes, for your houses burnt, 
We will remunerate you store of gold, 80 
And build your houses by our pallace gate. 

Strumbo. Gate! O pettie treason to my 
person! nowhere else but by your backside? 
Gate! Oh how I am vexed in my coller! Gate! 
I crie God mercie! Doo you hear, master 
king? If you mean to gratifie such poore men 
as we bee, you must build our houses by the 
Tauerne. 88 

Alba. It shall be done, sir. 
Strum. Neare the Tauerne, I! by ladie, sir, 
it was spoken like a good fellow. Do you 
heare, sir ? when our house is builded, if you 
do chance to passe or repasse that way, we will 
bestowe a quart of the best wine vpon you. 


Alb. It greeues me, lordings, that my sub- 
iects goods 95 

Should thus be spoiled by the Scithians, 
Who, as you see, with lightfoote forragers 
Depopulate the places where they come. 
But cursed Humber thou shalt rue the day 
That ere thou camst vnto Cathnesia. too 


The 2. Act. Scene 4. 

(The camp of Humber.) 

Enter Humber, Hubba, Segar, Trussier, and 

their souldiers. 
Hum. Hubba, go take a coronet of our 


As many launders, and light armed knights 
As may suffice for such an enterprise, 
And place them in the groue of Caledon. 
With these, when as the skirmish doth encrease, 
Retire thou from the sheltiers of the wood, 6 
And set vpon the weakened Troians backs, 
For pollicie ioyned with chiualrie 
Can neuer be put back from victorie. 


Albanact enter and. say (clownes with him). 
(Alb.', Thou base borne Hunne, how durst 
thou be so bold 1 

74 redifte Q 90 by our lady . 8. I). Scene 5 
Q Bracketed worrfv add. T 6 shelters // 8. D. 
Enter Albanact, Clownes with him Ff 



As once to menace warlike Albanact, 
The great commander of these regions? 
But thou shalt buy thy rashnesse with thy 


And rue too late thy ouer bold attempts; 
For with this sword, this instrument of death, 
That hath bene drenched in my foe-mens 
blood, l6 

De separate thy bodie from thy head, 
And set that coward blood of thine abroach. 
Strum. Nay, with this staffe, great Strum- 
bos instrument, 

lie crack thy cockscome, paltry Scithian. 20 
Hum. Nor wreake I of thy threats, thou 

princox boy, 

Nor do I feare thy foolish insolencie; 
And but thou better vse thy bragging blade, 
Then thou doest rule thy ouerflowing toong, 
Superbious Brittaine, thou shalt know too 
soone 2 S 

The force of Number and his Scithians. 

Let them fight. 

Humber and his sorildiers runne in. 
Strum. O horrible, terrible. 


The 5. Scene. 

(Another part of the field of battle.) 

Sound the alarms. 
Enter Humber and his souldiers. 
Hum. How brauely this yoong Brittain, 


Darteth abroad the thunderbolts of warre, 
Beating downe millions with his furious 


And in his glorie triumphs ouer all, 4 

Mouing the massie squadrants of the ground; 
Heape s hills on hills, to scale the starrie skie, 
As when Briareus, armed with an hundreth 

Floong forth an hundreth mountains at great 


And when the monstrous giant Monichus 
Hurld mount Olimpus at great Mars his targe, 
And shot huge caedars at Mineruas shield, n 
How doth he ouerlooke with hautie front 
My fleeting hostes, and lifts his loftie face 
Against vs all that now do feare his force, 
Like as we see the wrathfull sea from farre, 
In a great mountaine heapt, with hideous 

noise, I( , 

With thousand billowes beat against the ships, 
And tosse them in the waues like tennis balls. 

21 reck M S. D. Exit add. M S. D. The sixt Act 
Q : Scena Sexta Ff Bnicke /( d it ords add. T 5 squad 
rons Off J/ 6 Heaps 31 7 As oni. Q 9 And] As M 

Sound the alar me. 

Humb. Ay me, I feare my Hubba is sur- 

Sound againe; Enter Albanact. 
Alba. Follow me, souldiers, follow Alba 
nact; 20 
Pursue the Scithians flying through the field: 
Let none of them escape with victorie; 
That they may know the Brittains force is 


Then al the power of the trembling Hunnes. 
Thru. Forward, braue souldiers, forward! 
keep the chase. 2 S 

He that takes captiue Humber or his sonne 
Shall be rewarded with a crowne of gold. 

Sound alarme, then let them fight, Humber 
glue backe, Hubba enter at their backs, and kill 
Debon, let Strumbo fall downe, Albanact run 
in, and afterwards enter wounded. 

Alba. Iniurious fortune, hast thou crost me 


Thus, in the morning of my victories, 
Thus, in the prime of my felicitie, 30 

To cut me off by such hard ouerthrow! 
Hadst thou no time thy rancor to declare, 
But in the spring of all my dignities? 
Hadst thou no place to spit thy venome out, 
But on the person of yoong Albanactl 35 
I, that ere while did scare mine enemies, 
And droue them almost to a shamefull flight, 
I, that ere while full lion -like did fare 
Amongst the dangers of the thick throngd 

Must now depart most lamentably slaine 40 
By Humbers trecheries and fortunes spights. 
Curst be her charms, damned be her cursed 


1 That doth delude the waiward harts of men, 
I Of men that trust vnto her fickle wheele, 44 
j Which neuer leaueth turning vpside downe. 
gods, heauens, allot me but the place 
Where I may finde her hatefull mansion! 
| lie passe the Alpes to watry Meroe, 
i Where fierie Phvbus in his charriot, 49 

' The wheels wherof are dect with Emeraldes, 
: Casts such a heate, yea such a scorching heate, 
! And spoileth Flora of her checquered grasse; 
lie ouerrun the mountaine Caucusus, 
Where fell Chimtera in her triple shape 
Rolleth hot flames from out her monstrous 
panch, 55 

Scaring the beasts with issue of her gorge; 
He passe the frozen Zone where ysie flakes, 

42 her charms 11 : their charms 0, Ff 49 

Fhoebus Q 51 Casts R : Cast Q, Ff 52 And] As 
S 53 overturn Ff, ttc. 



Act II, Sc. VI. 

Stopping the passage of the fleeting shippes, 
Do lie like mountaines in the congeald sea: 
Where if I finde that hatefull house of hers, 60 
He pull the fickle wheele from out her hands, 
And tie her selfe in euerlasting bands. 
But all in vaine I breath these threatnings; 
The day is lost, the Hunnes are conquerors, 
Debon is slaine, my men are done to death, 65 
The currents swift swimme violently with 


And last, that this last might so long last, 
My selfe with woundes past all recouery 
Must leaue my crowne for Humber to possesse. 
Strum. Lord haue mercy vpon vs, masters, 
I think this is a holie day; euerie man lies 
sleeping in the fields, but, God knowes, full 
sore against their wills. 73 

Thru. Flie, noble Albanact, and saue thy 


The Scithians follow with great celeritie, 
And ther's no way but flight, or speedie death; 
Flie, noble Albanact, and saue thy selfe. 

(Exit Thra/ 
Sound the alarme. 
Alba. Nay, let them flie that feare to die 

the death, 

That tremble at the name of fatall more. 
Neu'r shall proud Humber boast or brag him- 
selfe 80 

That he hath put yoong Albanact to flight; 
And least he should triumph at my decay, 
This sword shall reaue his maister of his life, 
That oft hath sau'd his maisters doubtfull life: 
But, oh, my brethren, if you care for me, 85 
Reuenge my death vpon his traitorous head. 
Et vos queis domus est nigrantis regia ditis, 
Qui regitis rigido stigios moderamine lucos: 
Nox cceci regina poli, furialis Erinnis, 89 
Diique deceque omnes, Albanum tollite regem, 
Tollite flumineis vndis rigidaque palude. 
Nunc me fata vacant, hoc condam pectore 

[Thrust himselfe through. 

Enter Trompart. 
(TV.) 0, what hath he don? his nose bleeds. 

But, oh, I smel a foxe: 

Looke where my maister lies. Master, master. 
Strum. Let me alone, I tell thee, for I am 
dead. 95 

Trum. Yet one word, good master. 
Strum. I will not speake, for I am dead, I 
tel thee. 

07 might co><7. -V: niylit Q, Vf 70 flight 7?: 
fight Q, Ff S. D. Exit Tina. <. .V % word 
M : good Q, Ff 

Trum. And is my master dead? 
sticks and stones, brickbats and bones, 

and is my master dead? 100 

you cockatrices and you bablatrices, 

that in the woods dwell: 
You briers and brambles, you cookes shoppes 
and shambles, 

come howle and yell. 

With howling & screeking, with wailing and 
weeping, 105 

come you to lament, 
Colliers of Croyden, and rusticks of Royden, 

and fishers of Kent; 
For Strumbo the cobler, the fine mery cobler 

of Cathnes towne: no 

At this same stoure, at this very houre, 

lies dead on the ground. 
maister, theeues, theeues, theeues. 

Strum. Where be they? cox me tunny, 
bobekin! let me be rising. Begone; we shall 
be robde by and by. | Exeunt. 

The 6. Scene. 
(The camp of the Huns.) 
Enter Humber, Hubba, Segar, Thrassier, 

Estrild, and the souldiers. 
Hum. Thus from the dreadful shocks of 

furious Mars, 

Thundring alarmes, and Rhamnusias drum, 
We are retyred with ioyfull victorie. 
The slaughtered Troians, squeltring in their 


Infect the aire with their carcasses, 5 

And are a praie for euerie rauenous bird. 

Estrild. So perish they that are our enemies ! 
So perish they that loue not Numbers weale, 
And mightie loue, commander of the world, 
Protect my loue from all false trecheries. 10 
Hum. Thanks, louely Estrild, solace to my 


But, valiant Hubba, for thy chiualrie, 
Declarde against the men of Albany, 
Loe, here a flowring garland wreath'd of bay, 
As a reward for thy forward minde. 1 5 

Set it on his head. 

Hub. This vnexpected honor, noble sire, 
Will prick my courage vnto brauer deeds, 
And cause me to attempt such hard exploits, 
That all the world shall sound of Hubbaes 


Hum. And now, braue souldiers, for this 
good successe, 20 

Carouse whole cups of Amazonian wine, 

S. D. The 8. Act Q : Scena Octava Ff Bradittul 
irordx (idil. T 


ACT II, Sc. VI. 


Sweeter then Nectar or Ambrosia, 
And cast away the clods of cursed care, 
With goblets crownd with Semeleius gifts. 
Now let vs martch to Abis siluer streames, 25 
That clearly glide along the Champane fields, 
And moist the grassie meades withjuunid drops. 
Sound drummes & trumpets, sound vp cheer 

Sith we returne with ioy and victorie. 


The 3. Act. Prologue. 
Enter Ate as before. The dumb show. 

A Crocadile sitting on a riuers banke, and 

a little Snake stinging it. Then let both 

of them fall into the water. 
Ate. Scelera in authorem cadunt. 
High on a banke by Nilus boystrous streames, 
Fearfully sat the Aegiptian Crocodile, 
Dreadfully grinding in her sharpe long teethe 
The broken bowels of a silly fish. 5 

His back was armde against the dint of speare, 
With shields of brasse that shind like burniaht 


And as he stretched forth his cruell pawes, 
A subtill Adder, creeping closely neare, 
Thrusting his forked sting into his clawes, 10 
Priuily shead his poison through his bones; 
Which made him swel, that there his bowels 


That did so much in his owne greatnesse trust. 
So Humber, hauing conquered Albanact, 
Doth yeeld his glorie vnto Locrines sword. 15 
Marke what ensues and you may easily see, 
That all our life is but a Tragedie. 

The 1. Scene. 
(Troynovant. An apartment in the Royal 

Enter Locrine, Guendoline, Corineus, Assara- 

cus, Thrasimachus, Camber. 
Locrine. And is this true? Is Albanactus 


Hath cursed Humber, with his stragling hoste, 
With that his armie made of mungrell curres, 
Brought our redoubted brother to his end? 
O that I had the Thracian Orpheus harpe, 5 
For to awake out of the infernall shade 
Those ougly diuels of black Erebus, 
That might torment the damned traitors soule! 
that I had Amphions instrument, 
To quicken with his vitall notes and tunes 10 
The flintie ioynts of euerie stonie rocke, 

23 clouds S S. D. Exeunt add. R 

IQ ** The 2 - Scene 



By which the Scithians might be punished! 
For, by the lightening of almightie loue, 
The H urine shall die, had he ten thousand liues: 
And would to God he had ten thousand liues, 15 
That I might with the arme -strong Hercules 
Crop off so vile an Hidras hissing heads! 
But say me, cousen, for I long to heare, 
How Albanact came by vntimely death. 
Thrasi. After the traitrous boast of 

Scithians 20 

Entred the field with martiall equipage, 
Yoong Albanact, impatient of delaie, 
Ledde forth his armie gainst the stragling 

Whose multitude did daunt our souldiers 


Yet nothing could dismay the forward prince, 
But with a courage most heroicall, 26 

Like to a lion mongst a flock of lambes, 
Made hauocke of the faintheart f ugitiues, 
Hewing a passage through them with his 


Yea, we had almost giuen them the repulse, 
When suddeinly, from out the silent wood, 31 
Hubba, with twentie thousand souldiers, 
Cowardly came vpon our weakened backes, 
And murthered all with fatall massacre. 
Amongst the which old Debon, martiall knight, 
With many wounds was brought vnto the 

death, 36 

And Albanact, opprest with multitude, 
Whilst valiantly he feld his enemies, 
Yeelded his life and honour to the dust. 
He being dead, the souldiers fled amaine, 40 
And I alone escaped them by flight, 
To bring you tidings of these accidents. 

Locr. Not aged Priam, King of stately Troy, 
Graund Emperour of barbarous Asia, 
When he beheld his noble minded sonnes 45 
Slaine traitorously by all the Mermidorts, 
Lamented more then I for Albanact. 

Guen. Not Hecuba, the queene of Ilium, 
When she beheld the towne of Pergamus, 49 
Her pallace, burnt with all deuouring flames, 
Her fiftie sonnes and daughters fresh of hue 
Murthred by wicked Pirrhus bloodie sword, 
Shed such sad teares as I for Albanact. 
Cam. The griefe of Niobe, faire Athens 

queene, 54 

For her seuen sonnes, magnanimious in field, 
For her seuen daughters, fairer then the fairest, 
Is not to be comparde with my laments. 
Cor. In vain you sorow for the slaughtred 

In vain you sorrow for his ouerthrow; 

18 my cousin M 26 But] He M : Who S 54 
Athens] Auiphion's conj. M 



He loues not most that doth lament the most, 
But he that seekes to venge the iniurie. 61 
Thinke you to quell the enemies warlike 


With childish sobs and womannish laments? 
Vnsheath your swords, vnsheath your con 
quering swords, 

And seek reuenge, the comfort for this sore. 65 
In Cornwall, where I hold my regiment, 
Euen iust tenne thousand valiant men at 


Hath Corineus readie at commaund: 
All these and more, if need shall more re 

Hath Corrineus readie at commaund. 70 

Cam. And in the fields of martiall Cambria, 

Close by the boystrous I scans siluer streames, 

Where lightfoote faires skip from banke to 

Full twentie thousand braue couragious 


Well exercisde in feates of chiualrie, 75 

In manly maner most inuincible, 
Yoong Camber hath with gold and victual 1: 
All these and more, if need shall more require, 
I offer vp to venge my brothers death. 

Loc. Thanks, louing vncle, and good bro 
ther, too; 80 
For this reuenge, for this sweete word, reuenge 
Must ease and cease my wrongfull iniuries. 
And by the sword of bloodie Mars, I sweare, 
Nere shall sweete quiet enter this my front, 
Till I be venged on his traiterous head 85 
That slew my noble brother Albanad. 
Sound drummes and trumpets; muster vp the 

For we will straight march to Albania. 

The 2. Scene. 

(The banks of the river, afterward the Humber.'; 
Enter Humber, Estrild, Hubba, Trussier, and 

the souldiers. 

Hum. Thus are we come, victorious con 

Vnto the flowing currents siluer streames, 
Which, in memoriall of our victorie, 
Shall be agnominated by our name, 
And talked of by our posteritie: 5 

For sure I hope before the golden sunne 
Posteth his horses to faire Thetis plaines, 
To see the water turned into blood, 
And chaunge his blewish hue to rufull red, 

C4 conquering sword 0, Ff: rnn: R 72 Isca's 
Haz. 82 my] thy Q S. D. The 3. Scene 
Bracketed irordu add" T 8 water M : waters Q, Ff 
9 chaunge] ? chaunged pi: ed. 

By reason of the fa tall massacre :o 

Which shall be made vpon the virent plaines. 

Enter the ghoast of Albanact. 

(Ghost.} See how the traitor doth presage 

his harme, 

See how he glories at his owne decay, 
See how he triumphs at his proper losse; 

fortune vilde, vnstable, fickle, frailel 15 
Hum. Me thinkes I see both armies in the 


The broken launces clime the cristall skies; 
Some headlesse lie, some breathlesse on the 


And euery place is straw'd with carcasses. 
Behold I the grasse hath lost his pleasant 

greene, 20 

The sweetest sight that euer might be seene. 
Ghost. I, traiterous Humber, thou shalt find 

it so. 

\ Yea, to thy cost thou shalt the same behold, 
With anguish, sorrow, and with sad laments. 
The grassie plaines, that now do please thine 

eies, 25 

Shall ere the night be coloured all with blood: 

j The shadie groues which now inclose thy 


And yeeld sweet sauours to thy damned corps, 
Shall ere the night be figured all with blood: 
The profound streame, that passeth by thy 

tents, 3 

And with his moisture serueth all thy campe, 
Shall ere the night conuerted be to blood, 
Yea, with the blood of those thystragling boyes; 
For now reuenge shall ease my lingring grief e, 
And now reuenge shall glut my longing soule. 
Hub. Let come what wil, I meane to beare 

it out, 36 

And either hue with glorious victorie, 
Or die with fame renowmed for chiualrie. 
He is not worthie of the honie combe, 
That shuns the blues because the bees haue 

stings: 40 

{ That likes me best that is not got with ease, 
| Which thousand daungers do accompany; 
For nothing can dismay our regall minde, 
Which aimes at nothing but a golden crowne, 
The only vpshot of mine enterprises. 45 

Were they inchanted in grimme Plutos court, 
And kept for treasure mongst his hellish crue, 

1 would either quell the triple Cerberus 
And all the armie of his hatcfull hags, 

Or roll the stone with wretched Sisiphos. 50 

S. D. Almanact Q 12 Prefix odd. R 19 Anb Q 
20 his] its T 38 renown'd t'f, etc. 46 M suggests 
that a line lias 1xen tout after 45 inchanted] enchained 
roiii. M 50 Sisiphon Q 




Hum. Right martiall be thy thoughts my I scorne her, and you, and you. I, I scorne 

noble sonne, 
And all thy words sauour of chiualrie. 

you all. 

Oliu. You will not haue her then? 

Strum. No, as I am a true gentleman. 

Wil. Then wil we schoole you, ere you and 
we part hence. 26 

(They fight.} 

(Enter Segar.) 

But warlike Segar, what strange accidents 
Makes you to leaue the warding of the campe. 
Segar. To armes, my Lord, to honourable 

armes! ,!,: t i n ff I Enter Margerie and snatch the staffe out of her 

Take helme and targe in hand; the Bnttames JJg^ as ftg . g 


With greater multitude then erst the Greekes 
Brought to the ports of Phrigian Tenidos. 
Hum. But what saith Segar to these acci 

What counsell giues he in extremities? 60 
Seg. Why this, my Lord, experience 

teacheth vs: 

That resolution is a sole helpe at need. 
And this, my Lord, our honour teacheth vs: 
That we be bold in euerie enterprise. 
Then since there is no way but fight or die, 
Be resolute, my Lord, for victorie. 66 

Hum. And resolute, Segar, I meane to 


Perhaps some blisfull starre will fauour vs, 
And comfort bring to our perplexed state. 
Come, let vs in and fortifie our campe, 70 

So to withstand their strong inuasion. 

The 3. Scene. 

(Before the hut of a peasant.) 
Enter Strumbo, Trumpart, Oliuer, and his 

sonne William following them. 

Strum. Nay, neighbour Oliuer, if you be so 

whot, come, prepare your self e. You shall finde 

two as stout fellowes of vs, as any in all the 

North. 4 

Oliu. No, by my dorth, neighbor Strumbo. 

Strum. I, you come in pudding time, or else 
I had drest them. 

Mar. You, master sausebox, lobcock, cocks 
comb, you slopsauce, lickfingers, will you not 
heare? 3* 

Strum. Who speake you too? me? 

Mar. I, sir, to you, lohn lackhonestie, little 
wit. Is it you that will haue none of me? 

Strum. No, by my troth, mistresse nicebice. 
How fine you can nickname me. I think you 
were broght vp in the vniuersitie of bridewell; 
you haue your rhetorick so ready at your 
toongs end, as if you were neuer well warned 
when your were yoong. 4 

Mar. Why then, goodman cods -head, if 
you wil haue none of me, farewell. 

Strum. If you be so plaine, mistresse drigle 
dragle, fare you well. 

Mar. Nay, master Strumbo, ere you go from 
hence, we must haue more words. You will 
haue none of me? 47 

They both fight. 

Strum. Oh my head, my head! leaue, 
leaue, leaue! I will, I will, I will! 

Mar. Vpon that condition I let thee 
alone. 50 

Oliu. How now, master Strumbol hath my 
daughter taught you a new lesson? 

. . . Strum. I, but heare you, goodman Oliuer: 

Ich zee dat you are a man of small zideration, it will not bee for my ease to haue my head 

dat wil zeek to iniure your olde vreendes, one broken euerie day; therefore remedie this and 

of your vamiliar guests; and derefore, zeeing we shall agree. 56 

your pinion is to deale withouten reazon, iche ( OIL Well, zonne, well for you are my 

and my zonne William will take dat course, zonne now all shall be remedied. Daughter, 

dat shall be fardest vrom reason. How zay be friends with him. [Shake hands. 

you, will you haue my daughter or no? 12 / Exeunt Oliver, William, and Margery.) 

Strum. A verie hard question, neighbour, Strum. You are a sweet nut! The diuel 

but I will solue it as I may. What reason haue crack you. Maisters, I thinke it be my lucke : 

y *? d ^ maund it; of me? my first wife was a louing quiet wench, but this, 

Wil. Marry, sir, what reason had you, when I thinke, would weary the diuell. I would she 

my sister was in the barne, to tumble her vpon might be burnt as my other wife was. If not, 

tnejiaie, and to fish her belly. l8 I mus t runne to the halter for help. codpeece, 

Strum. Mas, thou saist" true. Well, but 
would you haue me marry her therefore? No, 

S. n. aid. It 62 a out. 8 8. D. The 4. Scene Q 
Srackettd words add. T 


thou hast done thy maister! this it is to be 
medling with warme plackets. [Exeunt. 

26 S.'l). adtl. M 59 S. D. JiracMcd irords add. .11 
66 done Q, M : undone Ff, It, etc. 



The 4. Scene. 
(The camp of Locrine.) 
Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineus, Thrasi 
machus, Assarachus. 

Loc. Now am I garded with an hoste of men, 
Whose hautie courage is inuincible: 
Now am I hembde with troupes of souldiers, 
Such as might force Bellona to retire, 
And make her tremble at their puissance: 5 
Now sit I like the mightie god of warre, 
When, armed with his coat of Adament, 
Mounted his charriot drawne with mighty 


He droue the Argiues ouer Xanthus streames: 
Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nie. 
Downe goes the glorie of thy victories, n 
And all thy fame, and all thy high renowne 
Shall in a moment yeeld to Locrines sword. 
Thy bragging banners crost with argent 


The ornaments of thy pauillions, 15 

Shall all be captiuated with this hand, 
And thou thy selfe, at Albanactus tombe, 
Shalt offred be in satisfaction 
Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he 


But canst thou tell me, braue Thrasimachus, 20 

How farre we are distant from Humber s campe? 

Thra. My Lord, within yon foule accursed 


That beares the tokens of our ouerthrow, 
This Humber hath intrencht his damned campe. 
March on, my Lord, because I long to see 25 
The trecherous Scithians squeltring in their 

Locn'. Sweet fortune, fauour Locrine with 

a smile, 

That I may venge my noble brothers death; 
And in the midst of stately Troinouant, 
Ile build a temple to thy deitie 30 

Of perfect marble and of lacinthe stones, 
That it shall passe the high Pyramides, 
Which with their top surmount the firmament. 
Com. The armestrong offspring of the 

doubled night, 

Stout Hercules, Alcmenas mightie sonne, 35 
That tamde the monsters of the threefold 


And rid the oppressed from the tyrants yokes, 
Did neuer shew such valiantnesse in fight, 
As I will now for noble Albanad. 

X. 7*. The 5. Scene Q Bracketed icords add. T 8 
his] ill's T 11 his T: thy old tdd. 12 his . . his 
T : thy . . thy old edd. 21 we distant are Httz. 22 
yon R : your Q, Ff 29 Troinonant Q 34 doubled 
night ,V/. : doubted knight Q, Ff: 'doubted night T 

Con'. Full foure score yeares hath Corineus 
. liu'd, 4 

Sometime in warre, sometime in quiet peace, 
And yet I feele my selfe to be as strong 
As erst I was in sommer of mine age, 
Able to tosse this great vnwildie club 
Which hath bin painted with my foemens 
brains; 45 

And with this club ile breake the strong arraie 
Of Humber and his stragling souldiers, 
Or loose my life amongst the thickest prease, 
And die with honour in my latest daies. 
Yet ere I die they all shall vnderstand 50 
What force lies in stout Corineus hand. 
Thra. And if Thrasimachus detract the 


Either for weaknesse or for cowardise, 
Let him not boast that Brutus was his eame, 
Or that braue Corineus was his sire. 55 

Loc. Then courage, souldiers, first for your 

Next for your peace, last for your victory. 


(Scene V. The field of battle.} 

Sound the alarme. 
Enter Hubba and Segar at one doore, and 

Corineus at the other. 
Cori. Art thou that Humber, prince of 


That by thy treason slewst yoong Albanacil 
Hub. I am his sonne that slew yoong 


And if thou take not heed, proud Phrigian, 
Ile send thy soule vnto the Stigian lake, 5 
i There to complaine of Humbers iniuries. 

Cori. You triumph, sir, before the victorie, 
For Corineus is not so soone slaine. 
i But, cursed Scithians, you shall rue the day 
That ere you came into Albania. 10 

So perish they that enuie Brittaines wealth, 
So let them die with endlesse infamie; 
And ha that seekes his soueraignes ouerthrow, 
Would this my club might aggrauate his woe. 
[Strikes them both downe with his club. 

(Scene VI. Another part of the field.} 

Enter Humber. 
(Hum.} Where may I finde some desart 


Where I may breath out curses as I would, 
And scare the earth with my condemning 

,5. D. Scene V. add. M : place first indicated T 11 they 
that ] that they Q S. D. Scene VI. add. M : place first 
indicated T 



Where euerie ecchoes repercussion 
May helpe me to bewaile mine ouerthrow, 5 
And aide me in iiiy sorrowfull laments? 
Where may I finde some hollow vncoth rocke, 
Where I may damne, condemne, and ban my 

The heauens, the hell, the earth, the aire, the 


And vtter curses to the concaue skie, 10 

Which may infect the aiery regions, 
And light vpon the Brittain Locrines head? 
You vgly sprites that in Cocilus mourne, 
And gnash your teeth with dolorous laments: 
You fearfull dogs that in black Lathe howle, 
And scare the ghoasts with your wide open 

throats : 16 

You vgly ghoasts that, flying from these dogs, 
Do plunge your selues in Puryflegiton : 
Come, all of you, and with your shriking notes 
Accompanie the Brittaines conquering hoast. 
Come, fierce Erinnis, horrible with snakes; 21 
Come, vgly Furies, armed with your whippes; 
You threefold iudges of black Tartarus, 
And all the armie of you hellish fiends, 
With new found torments rack proud Locrins 

bones! 25 

gods, and starres ! damned be the gods & 


That did not drowne me in faire Thetis plainest 
Curst be the sea, that with outragious waues, 
With surging billowes did not riue my shippes 
Against the rocks of high Cerannia, 30 

Or swallow me into her watrie gulfe! 
Would God we had arriu'd vpon the shore 
Where Poliphemus and the Cyclops dwell, 
Or where the bloodie Anthropophagie 
With greedie iawes deuours the wandring 

wights! 35 

Enter the ghoast of Albanact. 
But why comes Albanads bloodie ghoast, 
To bring a corsiue to our miseries? 
1st not inough to sutler shameful! flight, 
But we must be tormented now with ghoasts, 
With apparitions fearfull to behold? 40 

Ghoast. Reuengel reuenge for blood! 
Hum. So nought wil satisfie your wandring 


But-dire reuenge, nothing but Humbers fall, 
Because he conquerd you in Albany. 
Now, by my soule, H umber would be con- 
demn'd 4S 

To Tantals hunger or Ixions wheele, 

15 You] Yea Q 20 Aceompaie 24 your FS 
30 Ceraunia M 31 swallow M : swallowed Ft 
33 Poliphlemus Q 34 Anthropomphagie : An 
thropophagites Pope 42 you >' 


Or to the vultur of Prometheus, 
Rather then that this murther were vndone. 
When as I die ile dragge thy cursed ghoast 
Through all the riuers of foule Erebus, 50 
Through burning sulphur of the Limbo -lake, 
To allaie the burning furie of that heate 
That rageth in mine euerlasting soule. 
Alba, ghost. Vindicta, vindicta. [Exeunt. 

The 4. Ad. Prologue. 

Enter Ate as before. Then let their follow 
Omphale, daughter to the king of Lydia, 
hauing a club in her hand, and a lions 
skinne on her back, Hercules following 
with a distaffe. Then let Omphale turn 
about, and taking off her pantofle, strike 
Hercules on the head; then let them depart, 
Ate remaining, saying: 
Quern non Argolici mandala seuera Tyranni, 

Non potuit luno vincere, vicit amor. 
Stout Hercules, the mirrour of the world, 
Sonne to Alcmena and great lupiter, 
After so many conquests wonne in field, 5 
After so many monsters queld by force, 
Yeelded his valiant heart to Omphale, 
A fearfull woman voyd of manly strength. 
She tooke the club, and ware the lions skinne; 
He tooke the wheele, and maidenly gan spinne. 
So martiall Locrine, cheerd with victorie, n 
Falleth in loue with Humbers concubine, 
And so forgetteth peerlesse Guendoline. 
His vncle Corineus stormes at this, 
And forceth Locrine for his grace to sue. 15 
Loe here the summe, the processe doth ensue. 


The 1. Scene. 
(The camp of Locrine.) 

Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineus, Assaraeus, 

Thrasimachus, and the souldiers. 
Loc. Thus from the fury of Bellonas broiles, 
With sound of drumme and trumpets melodie, 
The Brittaine king returnes triumphantly. 
The Scithians slaine with great occision 
Do aequalize the grasse in multitude, 5 

And with their blood haue staind the streaming 


Offering their bodies and their dearest blood 
As sacrifice to Albanactus ghoast. 
Now, cursed Humber, hast thou payd thy due, 
For thy deceits and craftie trecheries, 10 
For all thy guiles and damned stratagems, 
With losse of life, and euerduring shame. 

Prologue] Scene 1 Q 9 wore Ff S. D. The 
2. Scene Q Bracketed words add. T 


ACT IV, Sc. I. 

Where are thy horses trapt with burnisht gold, 
Thy trampling coursers rulde with f oming bits? 
Where are thy souldiers, strong and number - 

lesse, 15 

Thy valiant captains and thy noble peeres? 
Euen as the countrie clownes with sharpest 

Do mowe the withered grasse from off the 


Or as the ploughman with his piercing share 
Renteth the bowels of the fertile fields, 20 
And rippeth vp the rootes with razours keene: 
So Locrine with his mightie curtleaxe 
Hath cropped off the heads of all thy Hunnes; 
So Locrines peeres haue daunted all thy peeres, 
And droue thine hoast vnto confusion, 25 
That thou maist suffer penance for thy fault, 
And die for murdring valiant Albanact. 
Cori. And thus, yea thus, shall all the rest 

be seru'd 

That seeko to enter Albion gainst our willes. 
If the braue nation of the Troglodites, 30 
If all the coleblacke Aethiopians, 
If all the forces of the Amazons, 
If all the hostes of the Barbarian lands, 
Should dare to enter this our little world, 
Soone should they rue their ouerbold attempts, 
That after vs our progenie may say, 36 

There lie the beasts that sought to vsurp our 

Loc. I, they are beasts that seeke to vsurp 

our land, 

And like to brutish beasts they shall be seru'd. 
For mightie lone, the supreame king of 

heauen, 40 

That guides the concourse of the Meliors, 
And rules the motion of the azure skie, 
Fights alwaies for the Brittaines safetie. 
But staie! mee thinkes I heare some shriking 

That draweth neare to our pauillion. 45 

Enter the souldiers leading in Estrild. 
Estrild. What prince so ere, adornd with 

golden (crowne,) 

Doth sway the regall scepter in his hand, 
And thinks no chance can euer throw him 


Or that his state shall euer lasting stand: 
Let him behold poore Estrild in this plight, 50 
The perfect platforme of a troubled wight. 
Once was I guarded with mauortiall bands, 
Compast with princes of the noble blood; 
Now am I fallen into my foemens hands, 
And with my death must pacific their niood. 

4(> crowne o>. Q : .tn/ipHal Ff 
&2 niaiioi'tiall (J 53 noblest T 

47 sceptler Q 

life, the harbour of calamities! 56 

death, the hauen of all miseries I 

1 could compare my sorrowes to thy woe, 
Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus, 
But that thou viewdst thy enemies ouerthrow. 
Nigh to the rocke of high Caphareus, 61 
Thou sawst their death, and then departeds t 


I must abide the victors insolence. 
The gods that pittied thy continuall griefe 
Transformd thy corps, and with thy corps thy 

care; 65 

Poore Estrild hues dispairing of reliefe, 
For friends in trouble are but fewe and rare. 
What, said I fewe? I ! fewe or none at all, 
For cruell death made hauock of them all. 
Thrice happie they whose fortune was so 

good, 70 

To end their Hues, and with their Hues their 


Thrice haplesse I, whome fortune so with 

That cruelly she gaue me to my foes I 
Oh, souldiers, is there any miserie, 
To be comparde to fortunes trecherie. 75 

Loc. Camber, this same shuld be the 

Scithian queen. 
Cam. So may we iudge by her lamenting 

Loc. So faire a dame mine eies did neuer 

With floods of woes she seems orewhelmed to 

Cam. Locrine, hath she not a cause for to 

be sad? So 

Locrine (at one side of the stage). 
If she haue cause to weepe for Numbers death, 
And shead sault teares for her ouerthrow, 
Locrine may well bewaile his proper griefe, 
Locrine may moue his owne peculiar woe. 
He, being conquerd, died a speedie death, 85 
And felt not long his lamentable smart; 
I, being conqueror, Hue a lingring life, 
And feele the force of Cupids suddaine stroke. 
I gaue him cause to die a speedie death, 
He left me cause to wish a speedie death. 90 
Oh that sweete face painted with natures dye, 
Those roseall cheeks mixt with a snowy white, 
That decent necke surpassing yuorie, 
Those comely brests which Venus well might 

spite, 94 

Are like to snares which wyHe fowlers wrought, 
Wherein my yeelding heart is prisoner cought. 
The golden tresses of her daintie haire, 

80 Locrine nm. 31 82 her] his dread S: her own 
Jfolf. 85 He] H limber fi 88 stroke] dart cow/. 
Tli. for sake of rhyme 9J mizt ^ 

ACT IV, Sc. I. 


Which shine like rubies glittering with the 
sunne, 98 

Haue so entrapt poore Locrines louesick heart, 
That from the same no way it can be wonne. 
How true is that which oft I heard declard, 
One dramme of ioy, must haue a pound of 

Eslr. Hard is their fall who, from a golden 


Are cast into a sea of wretchednesse. 
Loc. Hard is their thrall who by Cupids 
frowne IO S 

Are wrapt in waues of endlesse carefulnesse. 
Eslr. Oh kingdome, obiect to all miseries. 
Loc. Oh loue, the extreemst of all extremi 

Lei him go Mo his chaire. 
A sold. My Lord, in ransacking the Scithian 


I found this Ladie, and to manifest no 

That earnest zeale I beare vnto your grace, 
I here present her to your maiestie. 
Another sold. He lies, my Lord; I found the 

Ladie first, 
And here presort her to your maiestie. 

1. Sold. Presumptuous villaine, wilt thou 
take my prize? 115 

2. Sold. Nay, rather thou depriuest me of 
my right. 

1. Sol. Resigne thy title, catiue, vnto me, 
Or with my sword He pearce thy cowards 


2. Sol. Soft words, good sir, tis not inogh to 

A barking dog doth sildome strangers bite. 
Loc. Vnreuerent villains, striue you in our 
sight? 1 21 

Take them hence, laylor, to the dungeon; 
There let them lie and trie their quarrell out. 
But thou, f aire princesse, be no whit dismayd, 
But rather ioy that Locrine fauours thee. 1 25 
Estr. How can he fauor me that slew my 

Loc. The chance of war, my loue, tooke 

him from thee. 
Est. But Locrine was the causer of his 


Loc. He was an enemy to Locrines state, 
And slue my noble brother Albanact. 130 
Estr. But he was linckt to me in marriage 


And would you haue me loue his slaughterer? 
Loc. Better to liue, then not to liue at all. 
Estrild. Better to die renownd for chastitie, 

101 declare S 105 by Cupido's M : still by 

Cupid s T 107 object] subject S 133 Better 

M t ~~j~~.,j U^MJ^^V tj *0 JDCbbd 

to love conj. St.: Better to loue and Hue conj. pi: 7. 

Then liue with shame and endlesse infamie. 
What would the common sort report of me, 
If I forget my loue, and cleaue to thee? 137 

Loc. Kings need not feare the vulgar sen 

Estr. But Ladies must regard their honest 

Loc. Is it a shame to liue in marriage bonds? 

Estr. No, but to be a strumpet to a king. 

Loc. If thou wilt yeeld to Locrines burning 

Thou sbalt be queene of faire Albania. 

Estr. But Gucndolinc will vndermine my 

Lo. Vpon mine honor, thou shalt haue no 
harme. 1 45 

Est. Then lo, braue Locrine, Estrild yeelds 

to thee; 

And by the gods whom thou doest inuocate, 
By the dead ghoast of thy deceased sire, 
By thy right hand and by thy burning loue, 
Take pitie on poore Estrilds wretched thrall. 

Cori. Hath Locrine then forgot his Guen- 
doline, 151 

That thus he courts the Scithians paramore? 
What, are the words of Brute so soone forgot? 
Are my deserts so quickly out of minde? 
Haue I bene faithfull to thy sire now dead, 155 
Haue I protected thee from Humbers hands, 
And doest thou quite me with vngratitude? 
Is this the guerdon for my greeuous wounds, 
Is this the honour for my labors past? 
Now, by my sword, Locrine, I sweare to thee, 
This iniury of thine shall be repaide. 161 

Loc. Vncle, scorne you your royall souer- 


As if we stood for cyphers in the court? 
Vpbraid you me with those your benefits? 
Why, it was a subiects dutie so to do. 165 

What you haue done for our deceased sire, 
We know, and all know you haue your reward. 

Cori. Auaunt, proud princoxe; brau'st thou 

me withall? 

Assure thy self, though thou be Emperor, 
Thou nere shalt carry this vnpunished. 170 

Cam. Pardon my brother, noble Corineas; 
Pardon this once and it shall be amended. 

Assar. Cousin, remember Brutus latest 


How he desired you to cherish them; 
Let not this fault so much incense your minde, 
Which is not yet passed all remedie. 176 

Cori. Then, Locrine, loe, I reconcile my 

But as thou lou'st thy life, so loue thy wife. 

156 hand F2, tic. 
tudc M 

157 quit Ff, etc. ingruti- 



ACT IV, Sc. II. 

But if them violate those promises, 
Blood and reuenge shall light vpon thy head. 
Come, let vs backe to stately Troinouant, 181 
Where all these matters shall be setteled. 
Locrine (to himself e). Millions of diuels wayt 

vpon thy soule! 

Legions of spirits vexe thy impious ghoast! 
Ten thousand torments rack thy cursed bones! 
Let euerie thing that hath the vse of breath 186 
Be instruments and workers of thy death! 


The 2. Scene. 

(A forest.} 
Enter Humber alone, his haire hanging oner 

his shoulders, his armes all bloodie, and 

a dart in one hand. 
Hum. What basiliskt was hatched in this 


Where euerie thing consumed is to nought? 
What fearefull Furie haunts these cursed 


Where not a roote is left for Humbers meate? 
Hath fell Alecto, with inuenomed blasts, 5 
Breathed forth poyson in these tender plaines? 
Hath triple Cerberus, with contagious fome, 
Sowde Aconitum mongst these withered 


Hath dreadfull Fames with her charming rods 
Brought barreinnesse on euery fruitful! tree? 
What, not a roote, no frute, no beast, no bird, 
To nourish Humber in this wildernesse? 1 2 
What would you more, you fiends of Erebus! 
My verie intralls burne for want of drinke, 
My bowels crie, Humber, giue vs some meate. 
But wretched Humber can giue you no meate; 
These foule accursed groues affoord no meat. 
This fruitles soyle, this ground, brings forth no 

meat. 1 8 

The gods, hard harted gods, yeeld me no meat. 
Then how can Humber giue you any meat? 

Enter Strumbo with a pitchforke, and a scotch- 
cap, saying: 

How do you, maisters, how do you? how haue 
you scaped hanging this long time? Yfaith, 
I haue scapt many a scouring this yeare; but 
I thanke God I haue past them all with a good 
couragio, couragio, & my wife & I are in 
great loue and charitie now, I thank my man 
hood & my strength. For I wil tell you, 
maisters: vpon a certain day at night I came 
home, to say the verie truth, with my stomacke 
full of wine, and ran vp into the chamber 

ft. D. The 3. Scene Q bracketed icords add. S 
6 in] on S 11 nor fruit, nor beast, nor bird S 
24 good coraggio, and M 

where my wife soberly sate rocking my little 
babie, leaning her back against the bed, sing 
ing lullabie. Now, when she saw me come 
with my nose formost, thinking that I (had) 
bin drunk, as I was indeed, (she) snatcht vp 
a fagot stick in her hand, and came furiously 
marching towards me with a bigge face, as 
though shee would haue eaten mee at a bit; 
thundering out these words vnto me: Thou 
drunken knaue, where hast thou bin so long? 
I shall teach thee how to benight mee an other 
time; and so shee began to play knaues 
trumps. Now, althogh I trembled, fearing she 
would set her ten commandements in my face, 
(I) ran within her, and taking her lustily by the 
midle, I carried her valiantly to the bed, and 
flinging her vpon it, flung my selfe vpon her ; 
and there I delighted her so with the sport I 
made, that euer after she wold call me sweet 
husband, and so banisht brawling for euer. 
And to see the good will of the wench! she 
bought with her portion a yard of land, and 
by that I am now become one of the richest 
men in our parish. Well, masters, whats a 
clocke? it is now breakfast time; you shall see 
what meat I haue here for my breakfast. 56 
[Let him sit down and putt out 
his vittailes. 
Hum. Was euer land so fruitlesse as this 


Was euer groue so gracelesse as this groue? 
Was euer soyle so barrein as this soyle? 
Oh no: the land where hungry Fames dwelt 
May no wise equalize this cursed land; 61 
No, euen the climat of the torrid zone 
Brings forth more fruit then this accursed 


Nere came sweet Ceres, nere came Venus here; 
Triptolemus, the god of husbandmen, 65 

Nere sowd his seed in this foule wildernesse. 
The hunger -bitten dogs of Acheron, 
Chast from the ninefold Pwiflegiton, 
Haue set their footesteps in this damned 

ground. 6 9 

The yron harted Furies, arm'd with snakes, 
Scattered huge Hidras ouer all the plaines, 
Which haue consum'd the grasse, the herbes, 

the trees; 
Which haue drunke vp the flowing water 


Strumbo, hearing his voice, shall start vp 
and put meat in his pocket, seeking to 
hide himselfe. 
Hum. Thou great commander of the starry 

skie, 7 4 

C4 had OHI. Q 35 she add. M 45 I add. M 


ACT IV, Sc. II. 


That guidst the life of euerie mortall wight, 
From the inclosures of the fleeting clouds 

His wrathfull eies, piercing like Linces eies, 
Well haue I ouermatcht his subtiltie. 

Raine downe some foode, or else I faint and Nigh Deurolitum, by the pleasant Lee, 

Powre downe some drinke, or else I faint and 


lupiter, hast thou sent Mercury 
In clownish shape to minister some foode? 80 
Some meate! some meate! some meate! 

Strum. 0, alasse, sir, ye are deceiued. I 
am not Mercury ; I am Strumbo. 

Hum. Giue me som meat, vilain; giue me 

som meat, 
Or gainst this rock lie dash thy cursed braines, 

Where brackish Thamis slides with siluer 
streames, 20 

Making a breach into the grassie downes, 
A curious arch, of costly marble fraught, 
Hath Locrine framed vnderneath the ground; 
The walls whereof, garnisht with diamonds, 
With ophirs, rubies, glistering emeralds, 25 
And interlast with sun -bright carbuncles, 
Lighten the roome with artificiall day: 

And from the Lee with water -flowing pipes 
The moisture is deriu'd into this arch, 

And rent thy bowels with my bloodie hands. 8 6 Where I haue placed faire Eslrild secretly. 30 
Giue me some meat, villaine ; giue me some Thither eftsoones, accompanied with my page, 


fellow, I had rather giue an whole oxe 
then that thou shuldst serue me in that sort. 
Dash out my braines? horrible! terrible! 
I think el haue a quarry of stones in my pocket. 

Let him make as though hee would giue 

I couertly visit my harts desire, 

By the faith of my bodie, good Without suspition of the meanest eie; 

For loue aboundeth still with pollicie: 
And thither still meanes Locrine to repaire, 
Till Atropos cut off mine vncles life. 36 

The 4. Scene. 

him some, and as he pntteth out his (The entrance of a cave, near which runs the 

hand, enter the ghoast of Albanact, and 
strike him on the hand; and so Strumbo 
runnes out, Humber following him. 

[Exit. \ 
Alba, ghost. Loe, here the gift of fell | 

Of vsurpation and of trecherie! 94 ! 

river, afterward the Humber.} 
Enter Humber alone, saying: 
Hum. vita misero longa, foelici breuis, 
Eheu! malorum fames exlremum 

Long haue I liued in this desart caue, 

Loe, here the harmes that wait vpon all those With e * tin & hawes and miserable rootes, 

mi_ _ i i i i ,1 llPlirmrmcr laniiaa anH haaailir av/it>Am /** 

That do intrude themselues in others lands, 
Which are not vnder their dominion. [Exit. 

The 3. Scene. 
(.A chamber in the Royal Palace.} 

Enter Locrine oZone. 

Loe. Seuen yeares hath aged Corineus liu'd, 
To Locrtnes griefe, and faire Estrildas woe, 
And seuen yeares * " 


Should he enioy the benefit of life? 
Should he contemplate the radiant oumic , 
That makes my hfe equall to dreadfull death? 


rn- C , n " a ? this monster fro the earth, 
That disobeieth thus thy sacred bests! 10 
Cupid conuay this monster to darke hell, 
That disanulls thy mothers sugred lawes! 
Mars, with thy target all beset with flames, 
With murthering blade bereaue him of his life, 
inat nmdreth Locrine in his sweetest ioyes! 
And yet, for all his diligent aspect, 

Deuouring leaues and beastly excrements. 5 
Caues were my beds, and stones my pillow - 

Feare was my sleep, and horror was my 


For still me thought, at euery boisterous blast, 
Now Locrine comes, now, Humber, thou must 

die: 9 

So that for feare and hunger, Humbers minde 
yet to liue. \ Can neuer rest, but alwaies trembling stands, 
0, what Danubius now may quench my thirst? 
What Euphrates, what lightfoot Euripus, 
May now allaie the furie of that heat, 


? I U f ft T ' !C 4 i. Scene ? 

d. 6 7 sonns Q : sun Ff 9 from F2 

Which, raging in my entrails, eates me vp? 15 
You gastly diuels of the ninefold Stickes, 
You damned ghoasts of ioylesse Acheron, 
You mournful! soules, vext in Abissus vaults, 
You coleblack diuels of Auernus pond, 
Come, with your fleshhooks rent my famisht 

arms, 20 

These armes that haue sustaind their maisters 



19 Dnrolituin -V: Duiu-olituni 0, Ff 21 wrouslit 
cenj. St. 24 garnish q S. /). Tlic 5. Scene 
Bracketed words add. S 2 Elicn malorcm Q 


ACT V, Sc. 1. 

Come, with your raisours rippe my bowels vp, 
With your sharp fireforks crack my sterued 


Vse me as you will, so Number may not Hue. 
Accursed gods, that rule the starry poles, 25 
Accursed loue, king of the cursed gods, 
Cast downe your lightning on poore H umbers 


That I may leaue this deathlike life of mine! 
What, heare you not? and shall not H umber die'? 
Nay, I will die, though all the gods say nay! 30 
And, gentle Aby, take my troubled corps, 
Take it and keep it from all mortall eies, 
That none may say, when I haue lost my 

The very flouds conspirde gainst Humbers 


[Fling himselfe inio the riuer. 

Enter the ghoast of Albanact. 
En ccedem sequitur cades, in caede quiesco. 35 
H umber is dead! ioy heauens! leap earth! 

dance trees! 

Now maist thou reach thy apples, Tantalus, 
And with them feed thy hunger -bitten limmes! 
Now, Sisiphus, leaue tumbling of thy rock, 
And rest thy restlesse bones vpon the same! 
Vnbind Ixion, cruell Rhadamanth, 41 

And laie proud Number on the whirling wheele. 
Backe will I post to hell mouth Tcenarus, 
And passe Cocitus, to the Elysian fields, 
And tell my father Brutus of these newcs. 45 


The 5. Act. Prologue. 

Enter Ate as before. Jason, leading Creons 
daughter. Medea, following, hath a gar 
land in her hand, and putting it on Creons 
daughters head, setteth it on fire, and then, 
killing lason and her, departeth. 
Ate. Non lam Tinacriis exaestuat Aetna 

Lcesce furtiuo quam cor muUcris 


Medea, seeing lason leaue her loue, 
And choose the daughter of the Thebane king, 
Went to her diuellish charmes to worke 
reuenge; 5 

And raising vp the triple Hecate, 
With all the rout of the condemned fiends, 
Framed a garland by her magick skill, 
With which she wrought lason and Creons ill. 
So Guendoline, seeing her selfe misvs'd, 10 
And Humbers paramour possesse her place, 
Flies to the dukedome of Cornubia, 

And with her brother, stout Thrasimachus, 
Gathering a power of Cornish souldiers, 
Giues battaile to her husband and his hoste, 
Nigh to the riuer of great Mertia. 16 

The chances of this dismall massacre 
That which insueth shortly will vnfold. [Exit 

The 1. Scene. 

(A chamber in the Royal Palace.} 
Enter Locrine, Camber, Assarachus, 

Assa. But tell me, cousin, died my brother 


Now who is left to helplesse Albion, 
That as a piller might vphold our state, 
That might strike terror to our daring foes? 
Now who is left to haplesse Brittanie, 5 

That might defend her from the barbarous 


Of those that still desire her ruinous fall, 
And seeke to worke her downfall and decaie? 
Cam. I, vncle, death is our common 


And none but death can match our matchles 
power: 10 

Witnesse the fall of Albioneus crewe, 
Witnesse the fall of Number and his Hunnes. 
And this foule death hath now increast our 


By taking Corineus from this life, 
And in his roome leauing vs worlds of care. 15 
Thru. But none may more bewaile his 

mournful hearse, 

Then I that am the issue of his loines. 
Now foule befall that cursed Humbers throat, 
That was the causer of his lingring wound. 
Lo. Teares cannot raise him from the dead 
again. 20 

But wher's my Ladie, mistresse Gwendoline? 
Thra. In Cornwall, Locrine, is my sister 

Prouiding for my fathers funerall. 

Lo. And let her ther prouide her mourning 


And mourne for euer her owne widdow-hood. 
Ner shall she come within our pallace gate, 26 
To countercheck braue Locrine in his loue. 
Go, boy, to Deurolitum, downe the Lee, 
Vnto the arch where louely Estrild lies. 
Bring her and Sabren strait vnto the court; 30 
She shall be queene in Guendolinas roome. 
Let others waile for Corineus death; 
I meane not so to macerate my minde 
For him that bard me from my hearts desire. 

:>1 Alms Hun. Prologue] Scene 1 Q 
ixcestuat Q : ton: Ff 

1 TimTiis &. D. The 2. Scene Q Bracketed irords mJil. ,->' 
I 1 my] by (} '28 Deucolituiu Q, Ff : Durolitum M 


ACT V, Sc. I. 


Thra. Hath Loerine, then, forsooke his 

Guendoline? 35 

Is Corineus death so soone forgot? 
If there be gods in heauen, as sure there be, 
If there be fiends in hell, as needs there must, 
They will reuenge this thy notorious wrong, 
And powre their plagues vpon thy cursed head. 
Loc. What! prat'st thou, pesant, to thy 

soueraigne? 4 1 

Or art thou strooken in some extasie? 
Doest thou not tremble at our royall lookes? 
Dost thou not quake, when mighty Loerine 

Thou beardlesse boy, wer't not that Loerine 

scornes 45 

To vexe his mind with such a hartlesse cbilde, 
With the sharpe point of this my battale-axe, 
I would send thy soule to Puriflegiton. 

Thra. Though I be yoong and of a tender 


Yet will I cope with Loerine when he dares. 50 
My noble father with his conquering sword, 
Slew the two giants, kings of Aquitaine. 
Thrasimachns is not so degenerate 
That he should feare and tremble at the lookes 
Or taunting words of a venerian squire. 55 
Loc. Menacest thou thy roiall soueraigne, 
Vnciuill, not beseeming such as you? 
Iniurious traitor (for he is no lesse 
That at defiance standeth with his king) 
Leaue these thy tauntes. leaue these thy brag 
ging words, 60 
Vnlesse thou meane to leaue thy wretched life. 
Thra. If princes staine their glorious dig- 


With ougly spots of monstrous infamie, 
They leese thoir former estimation, 
And throw themselues into a hell of hate. 65 
Loc. Wilt thou abuse my gentle patience, 
As though thou didst our high displeasure 

Proud boy, that thou maist know thy prince is 


Yea, greatly mou'd at this thy swelling pride, 

We banish thee for euer from our court. 70 

Thra. Then, losell Loerine, looke vnto thy 


Thrasimachus will venge this iniurie. [Exit. 
Lo. Farwel, proud boy, and learn to vse thy 

Assa. Alas, my Lord, you shuld haue cald 

to mind 

The latest words that Brutus spake to you: 75 
How he desirde you, by the obedience 
That children ought to beare vnto their sire, 

45wertO 52 giant kings S 57 tliou 5 61 
mean st Ff 

To loue and fauour Ladie Guendoline. 
Consider this, that if the iniurie 
Do mooue her mind, as certainly it will, 80 
Warre and dissention followes speedely. 
What though her power be not so great as 


Haue you not scene a mightic elephant 
Slaine by the biting of a silly mouse? 
Euen so the chance of warre inconstant is. 85 
Loc. Peace, vncle, peace, and cease to talke 


For he that seekes, by whispering this or that, 
To trouble Loerine in his sweetest life, 
Let him perswade himselfe to die the death. 

Enter the Page, with Estrild and Sabren. 

Estr. 0, say me, Page, tell me, where is the 

king? 90 

Wherefore doth he send for me to the court? 
Is it to die? is it to end my life? 
Say me, sweete boy, tell me and do not faine! 
Page. No, trust me, madame; if you will 
credit the iitle honestie that is yet left me, 
there is no such danger as you feare. But 
prepare your selfe; yonders the king. 97 

Estr. Then, Estrild, lift thy dazled spirits 

And blesse that blessed time, that day, that 


That warlike Loerine first did fauour thee. 
Peace to the king of Brittany, my loue! 101 
Peace to all those that loue and fauour him! 
Loerine (taking her vp). Doth Estrild fall 

with such submission 
Before her seruant, king of Albion! 
Arise, faire Ladie; leaue this lowly cheare. 
Lift vp those lookes that cherish Locrines 

heart, i o 6 

That I may freely view that roseall face, 
Which so intangled hath my louesick brest. 
Now to the court, where we will court it out, 
And passe the night and day in Venus sports. 
Frollick, braue peeres; be ioyfull with your 

king. [Exeunt. 

The 2. Scene. 

(The camp of Guendolen.} 

Enter Guendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan, 

and the souldiers 
Guen. You gentle winds, that with your 

modest blasts 

Passe through the circuit of the heauenly vault, 
Enter the clouds vnto the throne of loue, 
And beare my praiers to his all hearing eares, 
For Loerine hath forsaken Guendoline, s 

S. 7). The 3. Scene : con: M Bracketed tcords 
add. S 



ACT V, Sc. IV. 

And learnt to loue proud Humbers concu 

You happie sprites, that in the concaue skie 
With pleasant ioy enioy your sweetest loue, 
Shead foorth those teares with me, which then 

you shed, 

When first you wood your ladies to your wils. 
Those teares are fittest for my wofull case, n 
Since Locrine shunnes my nothing pleasant 

Blush heauens, blush sunne, and hide thy 

shining beams; 

Shadow thy radiant locks in gloomy clouds; 
Denie thy cheerfull light vnto the world, 15 
Where nothing raigns but falshood and deceit. 
What said I? falshood? I, that filthie crime, 
For Locrine hath forsaken Guendoline. 
Behold the heauens do waile for Guendoline. 
The shining sunne doth blush for Guendoline. 
The liquid aire doth weep for Guendoline. 21 
The verie ground doth grone for Guendoline. 
I, they are milder then the Erittaine king, 
For he reiecteth lucklesse Guendoline. 

Thru. Sister, complaints are bootlesse in 

this cause; 25 

This open wrong must haue an open plague, 
This plague must be repaid with grieuous 


This warre must finish with Locrinus death; 
His death will soone extinguish our complaints. 
Guen. no, his death wil more augment 

my woes. 30 

He was my husband, braue Thrasimachus, 
More deare to me then the apple of mine eie, 
Nor can I finde in heart to worke his scathe. 
Thra. Madame, if not your proper iniuries, 
Nor my exile, can moue you to reuenge, 35 
Thinke on our father Corineus words; 
His words to vs stands alwaies for a lawe. 
Should Locrine Hue that caus'd my fathers 


Should Locrine liue that now diuorceth you? 
The heauens, the earth, the aire, the fire 

reclaimes, 40 

And then why should all we denie the same? 

Guen. Then henceforth, farwel womanish 

complaints 1 

All childish pitie henceforth, then, farwel! 
But, cursed Locrine, looke vnto thy selfe, 
For Nemesis, the mistresse of reuenge, 45 
Sits arm'd at all points on our dismall blades; 
And cursed Estrild, that inflamed his heart, 
Shall, if I liue, die a reproachfull death. 
Madan. Mother, though nature makes me 

to lament 

My lucklesse fathers froward lecherie, 50 
6 learne Q : con: Ff 

Yet, for he wrongs my Ladie mother thus, 
I, if I could, my selfe would worke his death. 
Thru. See, madame, see, the desire of 


Is in the children of a tender age! 
Forward, braue souldiers, into Merita, 55 
Where we shall braue the coward to his face. 

The 3. Scene. 
(The camp of Locrine.} 
Enter Locrine, Estrild, Sabren, Assarachus, 

and the souldiers. 
Loc. Tell me, Assarachus, are the Cornish 

chuff es 

In such great number come to Merita? 
And haue they pitched there their pettie hoste, 
So close vnto our royall mansion? 

Assa. They are, my Lord, and meane incon 
tinent 5 
To bid defiance to your maiestie. 

Loc. It makes me laugh, to thinke that 

Should haue the hart to come in armes gainst 

Estr. Alas, my Lord, the horse wil runne 


When as the spurre doth gall him to the bone, 
lealousie, Locrine, hath a wicked sting. n 
Loc. Saist thou so, Estrild, beauties para 

Well, we will trie her chollor to the proofe, 
And make her know, Locrine can brooke no 


March on, Assarachus; thou must lead the 

way, 15 

And bring vs to their proud pauillion. [Exeunt. 

The 4. Scene. 

(The field of battle.} 

Enter the ghost of Corineus, with thunder & 


Ghost. Behold, the circuit of the azure sky 
Throwe? forth sad throbs and grieuous suspirs, 
Preiudicating Locrines ouerthrow. 
The fire casteth forth sharpe dartes of flames, 
The great foundation of the triple world 5 
Trembleth and quaketh with a mightie noise, 
Presaging bloodie massacres at hand. 
The wandring birds that flutter in the darke, 
When hellish night, in cloudie charriot seated, 
Casteth her mists on shadie Tellus face, 10 

S. D. Tlie 4. i =! cene Q : cnrr. M Bracketed words ndd. 
S Habren Q, Ff 8 against F 2, etc. S. D. 
The 5. Scene ^ : corn M Bracketed words add. S 
2 grievously S 


ACT V, Sc. IV. 


With sable mantels couering all the earth, 
Now flies abroad amid the cheerfull day, 
Foretelling some vnwonted miserie. 
The snarling curres of darkened Tartarus, 
Sent from Auernus ponds by Radamanth, 15 
With howling ditties pester euerie wood. 
The watrie ladies and the lightfoote fawnes, 
And all the rabble of the wooddie Nymphs, 
All trembling hide themseluesin shadie groues, 
And shrowd themselues in hideous hollow pitts. 
The boysterous Boreas thundreth forth 

reuenge; 2I 

The stonie rocks crie out on sharpe reuenge; 
The thornie bush pronounceth dire reuenge. 

Sound the alarme. 

Now, Corineus, staie and see reuenge, 
And feede thy soule with Locrines ouerthrow. 
Behold, they come; the trumpets call them 

foorth; 26 

The roaring drummes summon the souldiers. 
Loe, where their army glister eth on the plaines! 
Throw forth thy lightning, mightie lupiter, 
And powre thy plagues on cursed Locrines 

head. 30 

\Sland aside. 

Enter Locrine, Estrild, Assaracus, Sabren and 

their soldiers at one doore; Thrasimachus, 

Guendolin, Maclan and their followers at 

an other. 
Loc. What, is the tigre started from his 


Is Guendoline come from Cornubia, 
That thus she braueth Locrine to the teeth? 
And hast thou found thine armour, prettie 


Accompanied with these thy stragling mates? 
Beleeue me, but this enterprise was bold, 3 6 
And well deserueth commendation. 
Guen. I, Locrine, traitorous Locrine! we are 


With full pretence to seeke thine ouerthrow. 
What haue I don, that thou shouldst scorn me 

thus? 4 o 

What haue I said, that thou shouldst me reiect? 
Haue I benc disobedient to thy words? 
Haue I bewrayd thy Arcane secrecie? 
Haue I dishonoured thy marriage bed 
With filthie crimes, or with lasciuious lusts? 
Nay, it is thou that hast dishonoured it; 46 
Thy filthie minde, orecome with filthie lusts, 
, Yeeldeth vnto affections filthie darts. 
I Vnkind, thou wrongst thy first and truest feer; 
Vnkind, thou wrongst thy best and dearesi 

friend; 50 

Vnkind, thou scornst all skilfull Brutus lawes, 
S. I>. Habren Q, Ff 


Forgetting father, vncle, and thy selfe. 

Estr. Beleeue me, Locrine, but the girle is 


And well would seeme to make a vestall Nunne. 

How finely frames she her oration! 55 

Thra. Locrin, we came not here to fight 

with words, 

Words that can neuer winne the victorie; 
But for you are so merie in your frumpes, 
Vnsheath your swords, and trie it out by force, 
That we may see who hath the better hand. 
Loc. Thinkst thou to dare me, bold Thrasi 
machus! 61 
Thinkst thou to feare me with thy taunting 


Or do we seeme too weake to cope with thee? 
Soone shall I shew thee my fine cutting blade, 
And with my sword, the messenger of death, 
Seal thee an acquitance for thy bold attempts. 


Sound the alarme. Enter Locrine, Assaracus, 
and a souldier at one doore; Guendoline, 
Thrasimachus, at an other; Locrine and his 
followers driuen back. Then let Locrine 
& Estrild enter again in a maze. 
Loc. faire Estrilda, we haue lost the field; 
Thrasimachus hath wonne the victorie, 
And we are left to be a laughing stocke, 
Scoft at by those that are our enemies. 70 
Ten thousand souldiers, armd with sword & 


Preuaile against an hundreth thousand men; 
Thrasimachus, incenst with fuming ire, 
Rageth amongst the faintheart souldiers 
Like to grim Mars, when couered with his 
targe 75 

He fought with Diomedes in the field, 
Close by the bankes of siluer Simois. 

[Sound the alarme. 

louely Estrild, now the chase begins: 
Ner shall we see the stately Troynouant, 
Mounted on the coursers garnisht all with 
pearles; 80 

Ner shall we view the faire Concordia, 
Vnlesse as captiues we be thither brought. 
Shall Locrine then be taken prisoner 
By such a yoongling as Thrasimachus'? 
Shall Guendolina captiuate my loue? 85 

Ner shall mine eies behold that dismall houre; 
Ner will I view that ruthf ull spectacle, 
For with my sword, this sharpe curtleaxe, 
lie cut in sunder my accursed heart. 
But 0! you iudges of the ninefold Stix, 90 

54 vastall Q 66 a quittance S S. T>. Xar urine 
in S, Molt. 80 with coursers Fj, R : on COUIM i * .'/ 
88 this] or this K : this sharpest S: this my Moll. 


ACT V, So. IV. 

Which with incessant torments racke the 


Within the bottomlesse Abissus pits, 
You gods, commanders of the heauenly 


Whose will and lawes irreuocable stands, 
Forgiue, forgiue, this foule accursed sinne! 95 
Forget, gods, this foule condemned fault! 
And now, my sword, that in so many fights 

[kisse his sword. 

Hast sau'd the life of Brutus and his sonne, 
End now his life that wisheth still for death; 
Worke now his death that wisheth still for 

death; xoo 

Worke now his death that hateth still his life. 
Farwell, faire Estrild, beauties paragon, 
Fram'd in the front of forlorne miseries! 
Ner shall mine eies behold thy sunshine eies, 
But when we meet in the Elysian fields; 105 
Thither I go before with hastened pace. 
Farwell, vaine world, and thy inticing snares ! 
Farwell, foule sinne, and thy inticing pleasures! 
And welcome, death, the end of mortall 

Welcome to Locrines ouerburthened hart! 

{Thrust himselfe through with his sword. 
Estr. Break, hart, with sobs and greeuous 

suspirs! in 

Streame forth, you teares, from forth my 

watry eies; 

Helpe me to mourne for warlike Locrmesdeath! 
Powre downe your teares, you watry regions, 
For mightie Locrine is bereft of life! 115 

fickle fortune! vns table world! 
What else are all things that this globe con r 


But a confused chaos of mishaps, 
Wherein, as in a glasse, we plainly see, 
That all our life is but as a Tragedie? 120 
Since mightie kings are subiect to mishap 
I, mightie kings are subiect to mishap! 
Since martiall Locrine is bereft of life, 
Shall Estrild Hue, then, after Locrines death? 
Shall loue of life barre her from Locrines 

sword? i 25 

O no, this sword, that hath bereft his life, 
Shall now depriue me of my fleeting soule: 
Strengthen these hands, mightie lupiter, 
That I may end my wofull miserie. 
Locrine, I come; Locrine, I follow thee. 130 

[Km her selfe. 

Sound the alarms. Enter Sabren. 
Sab. What dolefull sight, what ruthful 

106 hastenened Q 120 as om. Ff. etc. 122 om. S, 
Hun., Molt. 

Hath fortune offred to my haplesse hart? 
My father slaine with such a fatall sword, 
My mother murthred by a mortall wound? 
What Thracian dog, what barbarous Mir- 

midon, 1 35 

Would not relent at such a ruthfull case? 
What fierce Achilles, what hard stonie flint, 
Would not bemone this mournfull Tragedie? 
Locrine, the map of magnanimitie, 
Lies slaughtered in this foule accursed caue, 
Estrild, the perfect patterne of renowne, 1 41 
Natures sole wonder, in whose bewteous brests 
All heauenly grace and vertue was inshrinde: 
Both massacred are dead within this caue, 
And with them dies faire Pallas and sweet 

loue. 145 

Here lies a sword, and Sabren hath a heart; 
This blessed sword shall cut my cursed heart, 
And bring my soule vnto my parents ghoasts, 
That they that liue and view our Tragedie 
May mourne our case with mournfull plaudi- 

ties. 150 

[Let her offer to kill her selfe. 
Ay me, my virgins hands are too too weake, 
To penetrate the bullwarke of my brest; 
My fingers, vsde to tune the amorous lute, 
Are not of force to hold this steely glaiue. 
So I am left to waile my parents death, 155 
Not able for to worke my proper death. 
Ah, Locrine, honord for thy noblenesse! 
Ah, Estrild, famous for thy constancie! 
II may they fare that wrought your mortall 


Enter Guendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan, and 

the souldiers. 

Guen. Search, souldiers, search, find Locrin 

and his loue; 160 

Find the proud strumpet, H umbers concubine, 

That I may change those her so pleasing 


To pale and ignominious aspect. 
Find me the issue of their cursed loue, 
Find me yoong Sabren, Locrines only ioy, 1 65 
That I may glut my mind with lukewarme 


Swiftly distilling from the bastards brest. 
My fathers ghoast stil haunts me for reuenge, 
Crying, Reuenge my ouerhastened death. 
My brothers exile and mine owne diuorce 170 
Banish remorse cleane from my brazen heart, 
All mercie from mine adamintine brests. 
Thra. Nor doth thy husband, louely Guen 

150 plaudites F2: plaudite M: plaudits Haz. 
151 virgin Jtf 154glaine Q : glain Fl 155 lieft Q 
172 adamantine Q -. con: R 




That wonted was to guide our stailesse steps, 
Enioy this light; see where he murdred lies 175 
By lucklesse lot and froward frowning fate; / 
And by him lies his louely paramour, 
Faire Estrild, goared with a dismall sword; 
And as it seemes, both murdred by themselues, 
Clasping each other in their feebled armes, 180 
With louing zeale, as if for companie 
Their vncontented corpes were yet content 
To passe foule Stix in Charons ferry-boat. 
Guen. And hath proud Estrild then pre- 

uented me? 

Hath she escaped Guendolinas wrath 185 
Violently, by cutting off her life? 
Would God she had the monstrous Hidras Hues, 
That euery houre she might haue died a death 
Worse then the swing of old Ixions wheele; 
And euery houre reuiue to die againe, 19 
As Titius, bound to housles Caucason, 
Doth feed the substance of his owne mishap, 
And euery day for want of foode doth die, 
And euery night doth liue, againe to die. 
But staiel mee thinks I heare some fainting 

voice, i9S 

Mournfully weeping for their lucklesse death. 

Sa. You mountain nimphs, which in these 

desarts raign, 

Cease off your hastie chase of sauadge beasts; 
Prepare to see a heart opprest with care; 
Addresse your eares to heare a mournful! stile! 
No humane strength, no work can work my 

weale, 201 

Care in my hart so tyrant like doth deale. 
You and lightfoote Satiri, 
You gracious Faries which, at euening tide, 
Your closets leaue with heauenly beautie 

storde, 205 

And on your shoulders spread your golden 

You sauadge beares in caues and darkened 

Come waile with me the martiall Locrines 

Come mourn with me for beauteous Estrilds 


Ah! louing parents, little do you know 210 
What sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall. 

Gnen. But may this be, and is it possible? 
Liues Sabren yet to expiat my wrath? 
Fortune, I thanke thee for this curtesie; 
And let me neuer see one prosperous houre, 
If Sabren die not a reproachfull death. 216 
Sab. Hard harted death, that, when the 

wretched call, 

186 By violently R 191 Tityus . . Caucasus 3/ 220 com'st . . sheer'st M 232 thinst Q 2J 

n ?- W0 ^r 204 You .. which] Ye .. who S mastiff M, etc. 241 This present Ff, efc. 242 o 

add. It 247 same] stream conj. S 250 vuuts Q 

Art furthest off, and sildom heerst at all; 
But, in the midst of fortunes good successe, 
Vncalled comes, and sheeres our life in 

twaine: 220 

When wil that houre, that blessed houre, draw 


When poore distressed Sabren may be' gone? 
Sweet Atropos, cut off my fatall thred! 
What art thou death? shall not poore Sabren 

Guendoline (taking her by the chin shall say 

Guen. Yes, damsell, yes; Sabren shall surely 

die, 225 

Though all the world should seeke to saue her 


And not a common death shall Sabren die, 
But after strange and greeuous punishments 
Shortly inflicted vpon thy bastards head, 
Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streames, 
And feede the fishes with thy tender flesh. 
Sab. And thinkst thou then, thou cruell 

homicid, 232 

That these thy deeds shall be vnpunished? 
No, traitor, no; the gods will venge these 


The fiends of hell will marke these iniuries. 
Neuer shall these blood -sucking mastie curres, 
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home; 
For I my selfe, in spite of thee and thine, 
Meane to abridge my former destenies, 
And that which Locrines sword could not per 
form, 240 
This pleasant streame shall present bring to 


[She drowneth her selfe. 
Guen. One mischief e f ollowes (on) anothers 

Who would haue thought so yoong a mayd as 

With such a courage wold haue sought her 


And for because this Riuer was the place 245 
Where little Sabren resolutely died, 
Sabren for euer shall this same be call'd. 
And as for Locrine, our deceased spouse, 
Because he was the sonne of mightie Brute, 
To whom we owe our country, liues and 

goods, 250 

He shall be buried in a stately tombe, 
Close by his aged father Brutus bones, 
With such great pomp and great solemnitie, 
As well beseemes so braue a prince as he. 
Let Estrild lie without the shallow vaults, 255 

242 on 


ACT V, Sc. IV. 

Without the honour due vnto the dead, 
Because she was the author of this warre. 
Retire, braue followers, vnto Troynouant, 
Where we will celebrate these exequies, 259 
And place yoong Locrine in his fathers tombe. 
[Exeunt omnes. 

(Enter Ate.) 

Ate. Lo here the end of lawlesse trecherie, 
Of vsurpation and ambitious pride; 
And they that for their priuate amours dare 

260 yoong] your con;. S : king Molt. S. D. add. M 

Turmoile our land, and set their broiles 


Let them be warned by these premisses. 265 
And as a woman was the onely cause 
That ciuill discord was then stirred vp, 
So let vs pray for that renowned mayd, 
That eight and thirtie yeares the scepter swayd, 
In quiet peace and sweet felicitie; 270 

And euery wight that seekes her graces smart, 
Wold that this sword wer pierced in his hart! 

264 see Q 

T. B. 




the third: 

it hath binfundne times flaied about 
the Qtie of London. 


T rinted for (jtthbertTSurby, 

Ql = Quarto of 1596 

Q2 = 1599 

C -= Capell, 1760 

T = Tyrrell, 1851 

D = Delius, 1854 

Molt. = Moltke, 1869 

Col = Collier, 1878 

WP = Warnke and Proescholdt, 1836 

pr. ed. *? present editor 



Edward the third, King of England. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, his Son. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Derby. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Lord Audley. 

Lord Percy. 

Lodowick, Edward's Confident. 

Sir William Mountague. 

Sir John Copland. 

Two Esquires, and a Herald, English. 

Robert, sitting himself Earl, of Artois. 

Earl of Montfort, and 

Gobin de Grey. 

John, King of France. 

Charles, and Philip, his Sons. 

Duke of Lorrain. 

Lords, and divers other Attendants 

Villiers, a French Lord. 

King of Bohemia and )-.... . -, . . T . 

A Polish Captain \ Alds to Kin t *<**. 

Six 2 Citizens of Calais. 

A Captain, and 

A poor Inhabitant, of the same. 

Another Captain. 

A Mariner. 

Three Heralds; and 

Four other Frenchmen. 

David, King of Scotland. 

Earl Douglas; and 

Two Messengers, Scotch. 

Philippa, Edward's Queen. 
Countess of Salisbury. 
A French Woman. 
Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, &.c. 

Scene, dispers'd; in England, Flanders, and France.} 1 

(ACT I. 


London. A Room of State in the Palace. 

Enter King Edward, Derby, Prince Edward, 

Audely, and Artoys. 
King. Robert of Artoys, banisht though 

thou be 

From Fraunce, thy natiue Country, yet with vs 
Thou shalt retayne as great a Seigniorie: 
For we create thee Earle of Richmond heere. 
And now goe forwards with our pedegree: 5 
Who next succeeded Phillip le Bew? 

AT. Three sonnes of his, which all successe- 


Did sit vpon their fathers regall Throne, 
Yet dyed, and left no issue of their loynes. 9 
King. But was my mother sister vnto 


Art. Shee was, my Lord; and onely Issabel 
Was all the daughters that this Phillip had, 
Whome afterward your father tooke to wife; 
And from the fragrant garden of her wombe 
Your gratious selfe, the flower of Europes 
hope, , s 

Deriued is inheritor to Fraunce. 
But note the rancor of rebellious mindes: 

' .('I'L i' 2 Two C Act I. (If. mhl. C t\ le 
L : of Q'i 7 successively <J 17 note <j ? : not y / 

When thus the lynage of (le) Bew was out, 
The French obscurd your mothers Priuiledge, 
And, though she were the next of blood, pro- 
claymed 20 

lohn, of the house of Valoys, now their king: 
The reason was, they say, the Realme of 


Repleat with Princes of great parentage, 
Ought not admit a gouernor to rule, 
Except he be discended of the male; 25 

And thats the special! ground of their con 

Wherewith they study to exclude your grace: 
But they shall finde that forged ground of theirs 
To be but dusty heapes of brittile sande. 2) 
Perhaps it will be thought a heynous thing, 
That I, a French man, should discouer this; 
But heauen I call to recorde of my vowes: 
It is not hate nor any priuat wronge, 
But loue vnto my country and the right, 
Prouokes my tongue, thus lauish in report. 35 
You are the lyneal watchman of our peace, 
And lohn of Valoys indirectly climbes: 
What then should subiects but imbrace their 


Ah, where in may our duety more be seene, 
Then stryuing to rebate a tyrants pride 4 

18 of Bew Qf, : of le beau C 30 Art (7/W.) 

Perhaps Q 1 : Perhaps Q 2, tic. % watchman C : 

watcli men tyq 30 Ah] And couj. V 



And place the true shepheard of our comon- 

wealth? . 

King. This counsayle, Artoy es, like to muct - 

full shewers, 

Hath added growth vnto my digmtye; 
And, by the fiery vigor of thy words, 
Hot courage is engendred in my brest, 45 

Which heretofore was rakt in ignorance, 
But nowe doth mount with golden winges of 


And will approue faire Issabells discent, 
Able to yoak their stubburne necks with steele, 
That spume against my souereignety in 

France. [sound a home. 

A messenger? Lord Awdley, know from 

whence. 5' 

(Exit Audley, and returns.} 
And. The Duke of Lorrayne, hauing crost 

the seas, 
Intreates he may haue conference with your 

King. Admit him, Lords, that we may 

heare the newes. 

(Exeunt Lords. King takes his State. 
Re-enter Lords; with Lorrain, at 
Say, Duke of Lorrayne, wherefore art thou 

come? 55 

Lor. The most renowned prince, K;ing; 

lohn of France, 
Doth greete thee, Edward, and by me com- 


That, for so much as by his liberall gift 
The Guyen Dukedome is entayld to thee, 
Thou do him lowly homage for the same. 60 
And, for that purpose, here I somon thee, 
Repaire to France within these forty daies, 
That there, according as the coustome is, 
Thou mayst be sworne true liegeman to our 


Or else thy title in that prouince dyes, 65 

And hee him self will repossesse the place. 
K. Ed. See, how occasion laugbes me in 

the facet 

No sooner minded to prepare for France, 
But straight I am inuited, nay, with threats, 
Vppon a penaltie, inioynd to come: 70 

Twere but a childish part to say him nay. 
Lorrayne, returne this answere to thy Lord: 
I meane to visit him as he requests; 
But how? not seruilely disposd to bend, 
But like a conquerer to make him bowe. 75 
His lame vnpolisht shifts are come to light; 

And trueth hath puld the visard from his face, 
That sett a glosse vpon his arropannce. 
Dare he commaund a fealty in mee? 
Tell him, the Crowne that hee vsurpes, is 



S. D. Exit etc. C : Enter a messenger Lorragne Ou 78 glasse 01 
; *er] tfce 0* 71 childish] Degenerate 

And where he sets his foote, he ought to 


Tis not a petty Dukedome that I claime, 
But all the whole Dominions of the Realme; 
Which if with grudging he refuse to yeld. 
He take away those borrowed plumes of his, 85 
And send him naked to the wildernes. 
Lor. Then, Edward, here, in spight of all 

thy Lords, 
I doe pronounce defyaunce to thy face. 

Pri. Defiance, French man? we rebound it 


Euen to the bottom of thy masters throat. 9 
And, be it spoke with reuerence of the King, 
.My gratious father, and these other Lordes, 
I hold thy message but as scurrylous, 
And him that sent thee, like the lazy droane, 
Crept vp by stelth vnto the Eagles nest; 95 
From whence wele shake him with so rough 

a storme, 

As others shalbe warned by his harme. 
War. Byd him leaue of the Lyons case he 


Least, meeting with the Lyon in the feeld, 
He chaunce to teare him peecemeale for his 
pride. too 

Art. The soundest counsell I can giue his 


Is to surrender ere he be constraynd. 
A voluntarie mischiefe hath lesse scorne, 
Then when reproch with violence is borne. 104 
Lor. Degenerate Traytor, viper to the place 
Where thou was fostred in thine infancy, 
Bearest thou a part in this conspiracy? 

[He drawes his Sword. 
K. Ed. Lorraine, behold the sharpnes of 
this steele: (Drawing his.' 

Feruent desire that sits against my heart, 109 
Is farre more thornie pricking than this blade; 
That, with the nightingale, I shall be scard, 
As oft as I dispose my selfe to rest, 
Vntill my collours be displaide in Fraunce: 
This is thy finall Answere; so be gone. 114 
Lor. It is not that, nor any English braue, 
Afflicts me so, as doth his poysoned view, 
That is most false, should most of all be true. 
(Exeunt Lorrain, and Train.} 
K. Ed. Now, Lord, our fleeting Barke is 
vnder sayle; 

87 spight] sight conj. C HC> 

_ - . . Regenerate Oa H"j wast Q i' 

I 108 S.- D. add. D 117 tf. D. add. C 118 lords C 


Our gage is throwne, and warre is soone 

But not so quickely brought vnto an end. 1 20 

Enter Mountague. 

But wherefore comes Sir william Mountague? 
How stands the league betweene the Scot and 

Mo. Crackt and disseuered, my renowned 


The treacherous King no sooner was inf ormde 
Of your with drawing of your army backe, 1 25 
But straight, forgetting of his former othe, 
He made inuasion on the bordering Townes: 
Barwicke is woon, Newcastle spoyld and lost, 
And now the tyrant hath beguirt with seege 
The Castle of Rocksborough, where inclosd 130 
The Countes Salsbury is like to perish. 

King. That is thy daughter, Warwicke, is it 

Whose husband hath in Brittayne serud so 


About the planting of Lord Mouneford there? 
War. It is, my Lord. 135 

Ki. Ignoble Dauid! hast thou none to 


But silly Ladies with thy threatning armes? 
But I will make you shrinke your snailie 


First, therefore, Audley, this shalbe thy charge, 
Go leuie footemen for our warres in Fraunce; 
And, Ned, take muster of our men at armes: 
In euery shire elect a seuerall band. 
Let them be Souldiers of a lustie spirite, 
Such as dread nothing but dishonors blot; 
Be warie, therefore, since we do comence 1 45 
A famous Warre, and with so mighty a nation. 
Derby, be thou Embassador for vs 
Vnto our Father in Law, the Earle of Henalt: 
Make him acquainted with our enterprise, 
And likewise will him, with our owne allies 150 
That are in Flaunders, to solicite to 
The Emperour of Almaigne in our name. 
My selfe, whilst you are ioyntly thus employd, 
Will, with these forces that I haue at hand, 
March, and once more repulse the trayterous 

Scot. 155 

But, Sirs, be resolute; we shal haue warres 
On euery side; and, Ned, thou must begin 
Now to forget thy study and thy bookes, 
And vre thy shoulders to an Armors weight. 
Pr. As cheereful sounding to my youthfull 

spleene 1 60 

This tumult is of warres increasing broyles, 
As, at the Coronation of a king, 

121 Prrctiltd lif prefix Moun. Q 1 125 on 
V - 146 mighty nation C 155 Scots C 

The ioyfull clamours of the people are, 
When Aue, Caesar! they pronounce alowd. 
Within this schoole of honor I shal learne 1 65 
Either to sacrifice my foes to death, 
Or in a rightfull quarrel spend my breath. 
Then cheerefully forward, ech a seuerall way; 
In great affaires tis nought to vse delay. 

Roxborough. Before the Castle.) 

Enter the Countesse. 
(Coun/esse.) Alas, how much in vaine my 

poore eyes gaze 

For souccour that my soueraigne should sendl 
Ah, cosin Mountague, I feare thou wants 
The liuely spirit, sharpely to solicit 
With vehement sute the king in my behalf e: 5 
Thou dost not tell him, what a griefe it is 
To be the scornef ull captiue to a Scot, 
Either to be wooed with broad vntuned othes, 
Or forst by rough insulting barbarisme: 
Thou doest not tell him, if he heere preuaile, 10 
How much they will deride vs in the North, 
And, in their vild, vnseuill, skipping giggs, 
Bray foorth their Conquest and our ouerthrow 
Euen in the barraine, bleake, and fruitlesse 

Enter Dauid and Douglas, Lorraine. 
I 1 must withdraw, the euerlasting foe is 

I Comes to the wall; He closely step aside, 
i And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. 
K. Da. My Lord of Lorrayne, to our bro 
ther of Fraunce 

Commend vs, as the man in Christendome 
That we most reuerence and intirely loue. 20 
Touching your embassage, returne and say, 
That we with England will not enter parlie, 
Nor neuer make faire wether, or take truce; 
But burne their neighbor townes, and so per 

With eager Rods beyond their Citie Yorke. 25 
And neuer shall our bonny riders rest, 
Nor rusting canker haue the time to eate 
Their light borne snaffles nor their nimble 


Nor lay aside their lacks of Gymould mayle, 

Nor hang their staues of grayned Scottish ash 

i In peacefull wise vpon their Citie wals, 3* 

j Nor from their buttoned tawny leatherne belts 

I Dismisse their byting whinyards, till your 


Scene II. tic. aM. C 1 .Vo prtfx 01 3 Ah] 
A Ql wanfst Q? 17 rabble 0i> 20 must Ql 
25 roads C 27 rust in? C : rust In Qq 28 spurre 
Q 1 (B.M. copy. The Bod!, copy Itas only spu) 



Cry out: Enough, spare England now for 

pittie ! 

Farewell, and teli him that you leaue vs heare 
Before this Castle; say, you came from vs, 36 
Euen when we had that yeelded to our 

Lor. I take my leaue, and fayrely will 

Annother messenger. 
Mes. Arme, my good Lord! 0, we are all 

(Coim.) After the French embassador, my 


And tell him, that you dare not ride to Yorke; 
Excuse it that your bonnie horse is lame. 70 
K. She heard that to; intolerable grief e! 

Your acceptable greeting to my king. [Exit Lor. ; Woman, farewell 1 Although I do not stay . . . 
K. D. Now, Duglas, to our former taske ! [Ex(e}unt Scots. 

again, 4 Count. Tis not for feare, and yet you run 

For the deuision of this certayne spoyle. 

Don. My liege, I craue the Ladle, and no | 

King. Nay, soft ye, sir; first I must make 

my choyse, 

And first I do bespeake her for my selfe. 
Da. Why then, my liege, let me enioy her 



King. Those are her owne, still liable to 

And who inherits her, hath those with all. 

Enter a Scot in hast. 
Mes. My liege, as we were pricking on the 


To fetch in booty, marching hitherward, 
We might discry a mighty host of men; 50 
The Sunne, reflecting on the armour, shewed 
A field of plate, a wood of pickes aduanced. 
Bethinke your highnes speedely herein: 
An easie march within foure howres will 


The hindmost rancke vnto this place, my 


King. Dislodge, dislodge! it is the king of 

Dug. lemmy, my man, saddle my bonny 

King. Meanst thou to fight, Duglas? we 

are to weake. 
Du. I know it well, my liege, and therefore 

Cou. My Lords of Scotland, will ye stay 

and drinke? 60 

King. She mocks at vs, Duglas; I cannot 

endure it. 
Count. Say, good my Lord, which is he 

must haue the Ladie, 

And which her iewels? I am sure, my Lords, 
Ye will not hence, till you haue shard the 

King. Shee heard the messenger, and heard 

our talke; 6 S 

And now that comfort makes her scorne at vs. 

38 I out. Q 1 
52 pikes Q2, etc. 

43 ye om. Q 3 
59 flee Q3 

45 Prefix Da. Q 1 

fi*3 frnnrl /-mi /".' 

62 good om. C 


happie comfort, welcome to our house! 
The confident and boystrous boasting Scot, 75 
That swore before my walls they would not 


For all the armed power of this land, 
With f acelesse feare that euer turnes his backe, 
Turnd hence against the blasting North-east 

Vpon the bare report and name of Armes. 80 

Enter Mountague. 

Sommers day! See where my Cosin comes! 

Mo. How fares my Aunt? We are not Scots; 

Why do you shut your gates against your 

Co. Well may I giue a welcome, Cosin, to 


For thou comst well to chase my foes from 

hence. 85 

Mo. The king himselfe is come in person 

Deare Aunt, discend, and gratulate his highnes. 

55 I Co. How may I entertayne his Maiestie, 

To shew my duety and his dignitie? 

(Exit, from above.} 

Enter king Edward, Warwike, Artoyes, with 


K. Ed. What, are the stealing Foxes fled 
and gone, 9 

Before we could vncupple at their heeles? 
War. They are, my liege ; but, with a cheere - 

f ul cry, 

Hot hounds and bardie chase them at the 

Enter Countesse. 
K. Ed. This is the Countesse, Warwike, is 

it not? 

War. Euen shee, my liege; whose beauty 
tyrants feare, 95 

68 P rt fix om. Qq 
lie conj. C 79 

?1 She f : He 

lie conj. C 79 against conj. C : ngaine Oo 
names Q 2 82 Prefix pncales 81 ()<i 82 
hy, aunt, we C, et<: 89 ti. D. add. C 9 

;0 thcyl 



Q! 95niyoHi. Ql tyrant// 

93 honoi 


As a May blossome with pernitious winds, 
Hath sullied, withered, ouercast, and donne. 
K. Ed. Hath she been fairer, Warwike, 

then she is? 
War. My gratious King, faire is she not at 


If that her selfe were by to staine her selfe, 100 
As I haue seene her when she was her selfe. 
K. Ed. What strange enchantment lurkt 

in those her eyes, 

When they exceld this excellence they haue, 
That now her dym declyne hath power to 


My subiect eyes from persing maiestie, 105 
To gaze on her with doting admiration? 
Count. In duetie lower then the ground I 


And for my dul knees bow my feeling heart, 
To witnes my obedience to your highnes, 
With many millions of a subiects thanks 1 1 o 
For this your Royal! presence, whose approch 
Hath driuen war and dcCnger from my gate. 
K. Lady, stand vp; I come to bring thee 


How euer thereby I haue purchast war. 
Co. No war to you, my liege; the Scots 
are gone, MS 

Warwike, Artoys, to horse and lets away! 
Co. What might I speake to make my 

soueraigne stay? 
King. What needs a tongue to such a 

speaking eie, 

That more perswads then winning Oratoria? 
Co. Let not thy presence, like the Aprill 

sunne, 141 

Flatter our earth and sodenly be done. 
More happie do not make our outward wall 
Then thou wilt grace our inner house withal). 
Our house, my liege, is like a Country swaine, 
Whose habit rude and manners blunt and 

playne 146 

Presageth nought, yet inly beautified 
With bounties, riches and faire hidden pride. 
For where the golden Ore doth buried lie, 
The ground, vndect with natures tapestrie, 1 50 
Seemes barrayne, sere, vnfertill, fructles, dry; 

His pide perfumes and party colloured cost, 
Delue there, and find this issue and their pride 
To spring from ordure and corruptions side. 1 55 
But, to make vp my all to long compare, 
These ragged walles no testimonie are, 
What is within; but, like a cloake, doth hide 
From weathers Waste the vnder garnisht pride. 

And gallop home toward Scotland with their j More gratious then my tearmes can let thee 
hate. be, 160 

(King.) Least, yeelding heere, I pyne in Intreat thy selfe to stay a while with mee. 

shamefull loue, Kin. As wise, as faire; what fond fit can 

Come, wcle persue the Scots; Artoyes, awayl j be heard, 

Co. A little while, my gratious soueraigne, When wisedome keepes the gate as beutiea 

And let the power of a mighty king 

1 20 I Countesse, albeit my busines vrgeth me, 

Honor our roofe; my husband in the warres, j Yt shall attend, while I attend on thee: 165 

When he shall heare it, will triumph for ioy; 
Then, deare my liege, now niggard not thy 

Being at the wall, enter our homely gate. 

King. Pardon me, countesse, I will come 
no neare; 125 

I dreamde to night of treason, and I feare. 

Co. Far from this place let vgly treason ly! 

K. No farther off, then her conspyring eye, 
Which shoots infected poyson in my heart, 
Beyond repulse of wit or cure of Art. 1 30 

Now, in the Sunne alone it doth not lye, 
With light to take light from a mortall eye; 

Come on, my Lords; heere will I host to night. 


(ACT H. 


The Same. Gardens of the Castle. 

Enter Lodowick.) 
Lod. I might perceiue his eye in her eye 


His eare to drinke her sweet tongues vtterance, 
And changing passion, like inconstant clouds 
That racke vpon the carriage of the windes, 

For here two day stars that myne eies would Increase and die in his disturbed cheekes. 5 

Loe, when shee blusht, euen then did he looke 

More then the Sunne stealea myne owne light 

from mee. 

Contemplatiue desire, desire to be 1 35 

In contemplation, that may master theel 

10-2 liu-ke (J 1 104 her] their CUHJ. C 116 hate] 
haste C 117 Prefix om. Ql 133 two] to Ql 

As if her cheekes by some inchaunted power 

153 pide conj. C : pride Oq : proud C presumes 
2 157 testomie Q 1 159 waste D : West 7 
Act II. ttc. add. C 1 Prtfijc Lor. Q 1 4 rackt 

Q2, etc. 




Attracted had the cherie blood from his: 
Anone, with reverent feare when she grew 


His cheekes put on their scarlet ornaments; 10 
But no more like her oryentall red, 
Then Bricke to Corrall or liue things to dead. 
Why did he then thus counterfeit her lookes? 
If she did blush, twas tender modest shame, 
Being in the sacred presence of a King; 15 
If he did blush, twas red immodest shame, 
To vaile his eyes amisse, being a king: 
If she lookt pale, twas silly womans feare, 
To beare her selfe in presence of a king; 
If he lookt pale, it was with guiltie feare, 20 
To dote amisse, being a mighty king. 
Then, Scottish warres, farewell; I feare twill 


A lingring English seege of peeuish loue. 
Here comes his highnes, walking all alone. 

Enter King Edward. 
King. Shee is growne more fairer far since 

I came hither, 25 

Her voice more siluer euery word then other, 
Her wit more fluent. What a strange discourse 
Vnfolded she of Dauid and his Scots 1 
' Euen thus ', quoth she, ' he spake ', and then 

spoke broad, 

With epithites and accents of the Scot, 30 

But somewhat better then the Scot could 

'And thus ', quoth she, and answered then her 

Tor who could speake like her but she her 

Breathes from the wall an Angels note from 


Of sweete defiance to her barbarous foes. 35 
When she would talke of peace, me thinkes, 

her tong 

Commanded war to prison; when of war, 
It wakened Caesar from his Romane graue, 
To heare warre beautified by her discourse. 
Wisedome is foolishnes but in her tongue, 40 
Beauty a slander but in her faire face, 
There is no summer but in her cheerefull 


Nor frosty winter but in her disdayne. 
I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her, 
For she is all the Treasure of our land; 45 
But call them cowards, that they ran away, 
Hauing so rich and faire a cause to stay. 
Art thou there, Lodwicke? Giue me incke and 


10 cheeke to 11 oryent all Q 1 15 present 
Q 1 1 1 vail C : waile Qq 25 thither 1 2U 
spoke] spake Q 2 

Lo. I will, my liege. 

K. And bid the Lords hold on their play at 
Chesse, 50 

For wee will walke and meditate alone. 

Lo. I will, my soueraigne. Exit Lodowick.) 

Ki. This fellow is well read in poetrie, 
And hath a lustie and perswasiue spirite: 
I will acquaint him with my passion, 55 

Which he shall shadow with a vaile of lawne, 
Through which the Queene of beauties Queene 

shall see 
Her selfe the ground of my infirmitie. 

Enter Lodwike. 
Ki. Hast thou pen, inke, and paper ready, 


Lo. Ready, my liege. 60 

Ki. Then in the sommer arber sit by me, 
Make it our counsel house or cabynet: 
Since greene our thoughts, greene be the con- 


Where we will ease vs by disburdning them. 
Now, Lodwike, inuocate some golden Muse, 65 
j To bring thee hither an inchanted pen, 
That may for sighes set downe true sighea 


Talking of grief e, to make thee ready grone; 
And when thou writest of teares, encouch the 


Before and after with such sweete laments, 70 
That it may rayse drops in a Tarters eye, 
And make a fly nt heart Sythian pytifull; 
For so much moouing hath a Poets pen: 
Then, if thou be a Poet, moue thou so, 
And be enriched by thy soueraignes loue. 75 
For, if the touch of sweet concordant strings 
Could force attendance in the eares of hel, 
How much more shall the straines of poets wit 
Beguile and rauish soft and humane myndes? 
Lod. To whoine, my Lord, shal I direct my 
stile? 80 

King. To one that shames the faire and 

sots the wise; 

Whose bodie is an abstract or a breefe, 
Containes ech generall vertue in the worlde. 
Better then bewtifull thou must begin, 
Deuise for faire a fairer word then faire, 85 
And euery ornament that thou wouldest praise, 
: Fly it a pitch aboue the soare of praise. 
For flattery feare thou not to be conuicted; 
For, were thy admiration ten tymes more, 
| Ten tymes ten thousand more the worth 
exceeds 90 

49 soueraigne Q S 52 liege Q ? N. /(. add. (' 
53 well OHI. Q S 57 beauties Qucciies WP 71 
Torters <)q 75 soueraigne Q J 78 straine (> - 

79 beguild Q 1 80 Prefix Lor. 1 82 is] as C, 
etc. 90the]thy(*7 



Of that thou art to praise, thy praises worth. 
Beginne; I will to contemplat the while: 
Forget not to set downe, how passionat, 
How hart sicke, and how full of languishment, 
Her beautie makes mee. 
Lod. Write I to a woman? 95 

King. What bewtie els could triumph ouer 

Or who but women doe our loue layes greet? 

Her bewtie hath no match but my affection; 
I Hers more then most, myne most and more 

then more: 

Hers more to praise then tell the sea by drops, 
I Nay, more then drop the massie earth by 
sands, 136 

! And sand by sand print them in memorie: 
! Then wherefore talkest thou of a period 
To that which craues vnended admiration? 

What, thinkest thou I did bid thee praise a . Read, let vs heare. 


Lod. Of what condicion or estate she is, 
Twere requisit that I should know, my Lord. 
King. Of such estate, that hers is as a 

throane, 101 

And my estate the footstoole where shee 

treads : 

Then maist thou iudge what her condition is 
By the proportion of her mightines. 
Write on, while I peruse her in my thoughts. 
Her voice to musicke or the nightingale 
To musicke euerysommer leaping swaine 107 
Compares his sunburnt louer when shee 

speakes ; 

And why should I speake of the nightingale? 
The nightingale singes of adulterate wrong, 
And that, compared, is to satyrical; zxx 

For sinne, though synne, would not be so 


But, rather, vertue sin, synne vertue deemd. 
Her hair, far softer then the silke wormes 


Like to a flattering glas, doth make more faire 
The yelow Amber: like a flattering glas 116 
Comes in to soone; for, writing of her eies, 
He say that like a glas they catch the sunne, 
And thence the hot reflection doth rebounde 
Against my brest, and burnes my hart within. 
Ah, what a world of descant makes my soule 
Vpon this voluntarie ground of loue! 122 
Come, Lod wick, hast thou turnd thy inke to 


If not, write but in letters Capitall 
My mistres name, and it wil guild thy paper: 
Read, Lorde, reade; 126 

Fill thou the emptie hollowes of mine eares 
With the sweete hearing of thy poetrie. 
Lo. I haue not to a period brought her 


King. Her praise is as my loue, both innnit, 
Which apprehend such violent extremes, 131 
That they disdaine an ending peiiod. 

'M thy C: their IJ</ !C> /'/</;.- Lor. <J / Writ 

Q 1 a OIH. Q 2 % oucr Q 2 : on <J J jn Pn1i.c 
Lor. / 100 A line inn,/ hare Ixm lu*l //</ lO.". 
Ill ? that compare is 115 tol as (( ;' 124-ti Tiro 
lints Q'i, die. (ifttr name : C nids capital, name, read 

| Lo. ' More faire and chast then is the queen 

of shades,' 
King. That line hath two falts, grosse and 

Comparest thou her to the pale queene of 


Who, being set in darke, seemes therefore 

light? 144 

What is she, when the sunne lifts vp his head, 

But like a fading taper, dym and dead? 

My loue shall braue the ey of heauen at noon, 

And, being vnmaskt, outshine the golden sun. 

Lo. What is the other faulte, my soueraigne 


King. Reade ore the line againe. 
Lo. 'More faire and chast' 150 

King. I did not bid thee talke of chastitie, 
To ransack so the treasure of her minde; 
For I had rather haue her chased then chast. 
Out with the moone line, I wil none of it; 
And let me haue hir likened to the sun: 155 
| Say shee hath thrice more splendour then the 


That her perfections emulats the sunne, 
; That shee breeds sweets as plenteous as the 

That shee doth thaw cold winter like the 


That she doth cheere fresh sommer like the 
sunne, 1 60 

That shee doth dazle gazers like the sunne; 
1 And, in this application to the sunne, 
Bid her be free and generall as the sunne, 
Who smiles vpon the basest weed that growes 
As louinglie as on the fragrant rose. 1 65 

Lets see what followes that same moonelight 

Lo. ' More faire and chast then is the queen 

of shades, 
i More bould in constancie' 

King. In constancie 1 then who? 
Lo. 'Then ludith was.' 

King. O monstrous line! Put in the next 
a sword, J7 

137 And said, by said tyi : rorr. C 142 line] loiic 
Ql 152 treasure V : treason Qq 167 queen 

i V : louer Q>t 



And I shall woo her to cut of my head. 

Blot, blot, good Lodwicke! Let vs heare the 


Lo. Theres all that yet is donne. 
King. I thancke thee then; thou hast don 

litle ill, 

But what is don, is passing, passing ill. 1 75 
No, let the Captaine talke of boystrous warr, 
The prisoner of emured darke constraint, 
The sick man best sets downe the pangs of 

The man that starues the sweetnes of 


The frozen soule the benefite of fire, 
And euery grief e his happie opposite: 
Loue cannot sound well but in louers toungs; 
Giue me the pen and paper, I will write. 

Enter Countes. 

King. Tf thou speakst true, then haue I 

my redresse: 

Ingage thy power to redeeme my loyes, 
And I am ioyfull, Countes; els I die. 
Conn. I will, my Liege. 
King. Sweare, Counties, that thou wilt. 
Conn. By heauen, I will. 210 

King. Then take thy selfe a litel waie 

a side, 

And tell thy self, a King doth dote on thee: 
Say that within thy power (it) doth lie 
a To make him happy, and that thou hast 


i So i To giue him all the loy within thy power: 215 
Do this, and tell me when I shall be happie. 
Conn. All this is done, my thrice dread 


That power of loue, that I haue power to giue, 
Thou hast with all deuout obedience; 

But soft, here comes the treasurer of my Inploy me how thou wilt in prof e therof. 220 


Lodwick, thou knowst not how to drawe a 
battell; 185 

These wings, these flankars, and these squad 

Argue in thee defectiue discipline: 

King. Thou hearst me saye that I do dote 

on thee. 
Conn. Tf on rry beauty, take yt if thou 


Though litle, I do prise it ten tymes lesse: 
If on my vertue, take it if thou canst, 

Thou should est haue placed this here, this For vertues store by giuing doth augment: 225 

other here. 
Co. Pardon my boldnes, my thrice gracious 


Let my intrusion here be cald my duetie, 190 
That comes to see my soueraigne how he 


Kin. Go, draw the same, I tell thee in 
what forme. 

Lod. I go. 

Be it on what it will, that I can giue 
And thou canst take awaie, inherit it. 
King. It is thy beautie that I would e 

Count. 0, were it painted, I would wipe 

it of 

And dispossesse my selfe, to giue it thee. 230 
But, souereigne, it is souldered to my life: 

Con. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad: 

(Exit Lodowick.) Take one and both ; for, like an humble 


What may thy subiect do to driue from thee 195 Yt hauntes the sunshine of my summers life. 
Thy gloomy consort, sullome melancholic? (King.} But thou maist lend it me to sport 

King. Ah, Lady, I am blunt and cannot ' with all. 

strawe Count. As easie may my intellectual soule 

The flowers of solace in a ground of shame: j Be lent awaie, and yet my bodie liue, 236 
Since I came hither, Countes, I am wronged. As lend my bodie, pallace to my soule, 
Con/. Now God forbid that anie in my Awaie from her, and yet retaine my soule. 
howse 200 My bodie is her bower, her Court, her abey, 

Should thmck my soueraigne wrong! Thrice And shee an Angell, pure, deuine, vnspotted: 
gentle King, | if j should leaue her house, my Lord, to thee, 

Acquaint me with your cause of discontent. I kill my poore soule and my poore soule me. 
King. How neere then shall I be to reme- \ King. Didst thou not swere to giue me what 

Con*. As nere, my Liege, as all my womans 

Can pawne it selfe to buy thy remedy. 205 

177 immured C 184 treasure OS 186 squad- 
runs here V ISO lord C 193 Prefix lor. 01 
!>. U. add. C 19C Thy] This OS 202 your] thevr 
V 1 203 Pnjbt Kfe&wHbrfc* ,- q i y 

I would? 
Count. I did, my liege, so what you would 

I could. 
King. I wish no more of thee then thou 

maist giue: 245 

213 it add. C 
228 beauie Q 1 

214 that OHI. 0? 
230 disposse Q J 

JlTi liini] me C 


Q a lend Qg : leue 2 241 leaue Q 1 : lend 


Nor beg I do not, but I rather buie 
That is, thy loue; and for that loue of thine 
In rich exchaunge I tender to thee myne. 
Count. But that your lippes were sacred, my 


You would prophane the holie name of loue. 250 
That loue you offer me you cannot giue, 
For Caesar owes that tribut to his Queene; 
That loue you beg of me I cannot giue, 
For Sara owes that duetie to her Lord. 254 
He that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp 
Shall die, my Lord; and will your sacred selfe 
Comit high treason against the King of heauen, 
To stamp his Image in forbidden mettel, 
Forgetting your alleageance and your othe? 
In violating mariage sacred law, 260 

You breake a greater honor then your selfe: 
To be a King is of a yonger house 
Then to be maried; your progenitour, 
Sole ragning Adam on the vniuerse, 
By God was honored for a married man, 265 
But not by him annointcd for a king. 
It is a pennalty to breake your statutes, 
Though not enacted with your highnes hand: 
How much more, to infringe the holy act, 
Made by the mouth of God, seald with his 

hand? 270 

/ I know, my souereigne, in my husbands loue, 
Who now doth loyall seruice in his warrs, 
Doth but so try the wife of Salisbury, 
Whither shee will heare a wantons tale or no, 
Lest being therein giulty by my stay, 275 
From that, not from my leige, I tourne awaie. 

King. Whether is her bewtie by her words 

Or are her words sweet chaplaines to her 

bewtie ? 

Like as the wind doth beautifie a saile, 
And as a saile becomes the vnseene winde, 280 
So doe her words her bewties, bewties wordes. 
0, that I were a honie gathering bee, 
To beare the combe of vertue from this flower, 
And not a poison sucking enuious spider, 
To turne the iuce I take to deadlie venom! 285 
Religion is austere and bewty gentle; 
To strict a gardion for so faire a ward! 
0, that shee were, as is the aire, to mee! 
Why, so she is, for when I would embrace 


This do I, and catch nothing but my selfe. 290 
I must enioy her; for I cannot beate 
With reason and reproofe fond loue a waie. 

249 my] my C 2CO scored Q 1 2GS with! by C 
273 so p')\ ctf. : 'to Qq, etc. 281 bewties, bewtie 

Q 7 : beauty, beauty C 283 this C : his Qq 285 
iuce Col.: vice Qq, C 287 Too strict Q?: To 
ward C; " 

stricke Q 1 

weed Qq 

Enter Warwicke. 

Here comes her father: I will worke with him, 
To beare my collours in this feild of loue. 
War. How is it that my souereigne is so 
sad? 295 

May I with pardon know your highnes grief e; 
And that my old endeuor will remoue it, 
It shall not comber long your maiestie. 
King. A kind and voluntary gift thou pro- 


That I was forwarde to haue begd of thee. 300 
But, thou world, great nurse of flatterie, 
Whie dost thou tip mens tongues with golden 

And peise their deedes with weight of heauie 


That faire performance cannot follow promise? 
0, that a man might hold the hartes close 
booke 3<>5 

And choke the lauish tongue, when it doth vtter 
The breath of falshood not carectred there 1 

War. Far be it from the honor of my age, 
That I should owe bright gould and render 


Age is a cynicke, not a flatterer. 310 

I sayc againe, that if I knew your griefe, 
And that by me it may be leaned, 
My proper harmc should buy your highnes 

Kin. These are the vulger tenders of false 


That neuer pay the duetie of their words. 315 
Thou wilt not sticke to sweare what thou hast 


But, when thou knowest my greifes condition, 
This rash disgorged vomit of thy word 
Thou wilt eate vp againe, and leaue me helples. 
War. By heauen, I will not, though your 
maiestie 3 2 

Did byd me run vpon your sworde and die. 
(Kin.} Say that my greefe is no way medi- 


But by the losse and bruising of thine honour. 
War. Yf nothing but that losse may van 
tage you, 

I would accompt that losse my vauntage to. 3 25 
King. Thinkst that thou canst unswere 

thy oth againe? 
War. I cannot; nor I would not, if I 


King. But, if thou dost, what shal I say to 

299 offerest Q S 310 cyncke Q 1 311 if I] I if 
Q 1 314 Prefix Kin. precede* 316 Qq 322 Prtfr 
om.Ql 325 account Q2 : accomplish Q 1 326 un 
swere WP : unswear C ; answere Qq 


War. What may be said to anie periurd 
villane, 3*9 , 

That breake(s) the sacred warrant of an oath. 

King. What wilt thou say to one that 
breaks an othe? 

War. That hee hath broke his faith with 

God and man, 
And from them both standes excommunicat. 

King. What office were it, to suggest a man 
To breake a lawfull and religious vowe? 335 

War. An office for the deuill, not for man. 

Ki. That deuilles office must thou do for j 


Or breake thy oth, or cancell all the bondes 
Of loue and duetie twixt thy self and mee ; 339 
And therefore, Warwike, if thou art thy selfe, 
The Lord and master of thy word and othe, 
Go to thy daughter; and in my behalf e 
Comaund her, woo her, win her anie waies, 
To be my mistres and my secret loue. 
I will not stand to heare thee make reply: 345 
Thy oth breake hers, or let thy souereigne dye. 


War. doting King! detestable office! 
Well may I tempt my self to wrong my self, 
When he hath sworne me by the name of God 
To breake a vowe made by the name of God. 
What, if I sweare by this right hand of mine 
To cut this right hande of? The better waie 
Were to prophaine the I doll then confound it: 
But neither will I do; He keepe myne oath, 
And to my daughter make a recantation 355 
Of all the vertue I haue preacht to her: 
He say, she must forget her husband Salisbury, 
If she remember to embrace the king; 
He say, an othe may easily be broken, 
But not so easily pardoned, being broken ; 3 60 
He say, it is true charitie to loue, 
But not true loue to be so charitable; 
He say, his greatnes may beare out the shame, 
But not his kingdome can buy out the sinne; 
He say, it is my duety to perswade, 365 

But not her honestie to giue consent. 

Enter Countesse. 

See where she comes; was neuer father had 
Against his child an embassage so bad! 
Co. My Lord and father, I haue sought for 


My mother and the Peeres importune you 370 
To keepe in presence of his maiestie, 
And do your best to make his bighnes merrie. 
War. (Aside.} How shall I enter in this 
gracelesse arrant? 

330 breaks Q5: breake QJ 338 and cancel] 

tt P 347 Prrfx War. Q : King Q J King, or Qq 
3f 1 presence ^ S : promise Q 1 373 S. D. <tM. WP 

I must not call her child, for wheres the father 
That will in such a sute seduce his child? 375 
Then, ' wife of Salisbury '; shall I so begin? 
No, hees my friend, and where is found the 

That will doe friendship such indammage- 

(To the Count.} Neither my daughter nor my 

deare friends wife, 

I am not Warwike, as thou thinkst I am, 380 
But an atturnie from the Court of hell, 
That thus haue housd my spirite in his forme, 
To do a message to thee from the king. 
The mighty king of England dotes on thee: 
He that hath power to take away thy life, 385 
Hath power to take thy honor; then consent 
To pawne thine honor rather then thy life: 
Honor is often lost and got againe, 
But life, once gon, hath no recouerie. 
The Su.nne, that withers heye, doth nourish 

grasse; 390 

The king, that would distaine thee, will 

aduance thee. 

The Poets write that great Achilles speare 
Could heale the wound it made: the morrall is, 
What mighty men misdoo, they can amend. 
The Lyon doth become his bloody iawes, 395 
And grace his forragement by being milde, 
When vassell feare lies trembling at his feete. 
The king will in his glory hide thy shame; 
And those that gaze on him to finde out thee, 
Will loose their eie -sight, looking in the Sunne. 
What can one drop of poyson harme the Sea, 
Whose hugie vastures can digest the ill 
And make it loose his operation? 
The kings great name will temper thy misdeeds, 
And giue the bitter potion of reproch 405 
A sugred, sweet and most delitious tast. 
Besides, it is no harme to do the thing 
Which without shame could not be left vn- 


Thus haue I in his maiesties behalfe 
Apparaled sin in vertuous sentences, 410 
And dwel vpon thy answere in his sute. 

Con. Vnnaturallbeseege! woe me vnhappie, 
To haue escapt the danger of my foes, 
And to be ten times worse inuierd by friends! 
Hath he no meanes to stayne my honest blood, 
But to corrupt the author of my blood 41 6 
To be his scandalous and vile solicitor? 
No maruell though the braunches be then 


When poyson hath encompassed the roote: 
No maruell though the leprous infant dye, 420 

379 .S. 7). a Jd. WP 390 doth] gotli Q 1 404 thy 
f: their Qq 405 portion 01 414 iniured \\'I' : 
imvir'd D 


When the sterne dame inuennometh the Dug. 
Why then, giue sinne a pasport to offend, 
And youth the dangerous reigne of liberty: 
Blot out the strict forbidding of the law, 
And cancell euery cannon that prescribes 425 
A shame for shame or pennance for offence. 
No, let me die, if his too boystroua will 
Will haue it so, before I will consent 
To be an actor in his gracelesse lust. 

Wa. Why, now thou speakst as I would 

haue thee speake: 430 

And marke how I vnsaie my words againe. 
An honorable graue is more esteemd 
Then the polluted closet of a king: 
The greater man, the greater is the thing, 
Be it good or bad, that he shall vndertake: 435 
An vnreputed mote, flying in the Sunne, 
Presents a greater substaunce then it is: 
The freshest summers day doth soonest taint 
The lothed carrion that it seemes to kisse: 
Deepe are the blowes made with a mightie 

Axe: 440 

That sinne doth ten times agreuate it selfe, 
That is committed in a holie place: 
An euill deed, done by authoritie, 
Is sin and subbornation: Decke an Ape 
In tissue, and the beautie of the robe 445 

Adds but the greater scorne vnto the beast. 
A spatious field of reasons could I vrge 
Betweene his glorie, daughter, and thy shame: 
That poyson shewes worst in a golden cup; 
Darke night seemes darker by the lightning 

flash; 450 

Lillies that fester smel far worse then weeds; 
And euery glory that inclynes to sin, 
The shame is treble by the opposite. 
So leaue I with my blessing in thy bosome, 
Which then conuert to a most heauie curse, 455 
When thou conuertest from honors golden 


To the blacke faction of bed blotting shame. 
Conn. lie follow thee; and when my minde 

turnes so, 
My body sinke my soule in endles woo! 


The Same. A Room in the Castle.} 
Enter at one doore Derby from Fraunce, At an 

other doore Audley with a Drum. 
Der. Thrice noble Audley, well incountred 


How is it with our soueraigne and his peeres? 
And. Tis full a fortnight, since I saw his 


448 glory C : gloom ie 
etc. add. C 

458 Us Q 1 Fceno II. 

What time he sent me forth to muster men; 
Which I accordingly haue done, and bring 
them hither 5 

In faire aray before his maiestie. 
What newes, my Lord of Derby, from the 


Der. As good as we desire: the Emperor 
Hath yeelded to his highnes friendly ayd, 
And makes our king leiuetenant generall 10 
In all his lands and large dominions: 
Then via for the spatious bounds of Fraunce! 
And. What, doth his highnes leap to heare 

these newes? 

Der. I haue not yet found time to open them ; 
The king is in his closet, malcontent; 15 

For what, I know not, but he gaue in charge, 
Till after dinner none should interrupt him: 
The Countesse Salisbury and her father War- 


Artoyes and all looke vnderneath the browes. 

And. Vndoubtedly, then, some thing is 

a misse. (Trumpet within.} 

Dor. The Trumpets sound, the king is now 

abroad. 21 

Enter the King. 

And. Here comes his highnes. 
Der. Befall my soueraigne all my souc- 

raignes wish! 
King. Ah, that thou wert a Witch to make 

it so! 

Der. The Emperour greeteth you. 25 

(presenting Letters.} 
Kin. Would it were the Countesse 1 
Der. And hath accorded to your highnea 

King. Thou lyest, she hath not; but I 

would she had. 
Au. All loue and duety to my Lord the 


Kin. Well, all but one is none. What 

newes with you? 3 

An. I haue, my liege, leuied those horse 

and foote 
According to your charge, and brought them 

Kin. Then let those foote trudge hence 

vpon those horse 

According too our discharge, and be gonne. 

Darby, He looke vpon the Countesse minde 

anone. 35 

Dar. The Countesse minde, my liege? 

Kin. I meane the Emperour: leaue me 


5 hither o>. C 7 Pri fix King If/ore Hit's line in 

01 13 these] this & 20, 25 S. DD. add. C 

21 5. /). follows 20 m Oq 22 Ar. (Hal.) Hhere Q 1 

32 to Q$: a$Ql 


An. What is his mind? 
Dor. I ets leaue him to his humor. 

Ki. Thus from the harts aboundance 

speakes the tongue; 
Countesse for Emperour: and indeed, why 

not? 40 

She is as imperator ouer me 
And I to her 

Am as a kneeling vassaile, that obserues 
The pleasure or displeasure of her eye. 

Enter Lodwike. 
Ki, What saies the more then Cleopatras 

match . 4S 

To Caesar now? 

Lo. That yet, my liege, ere night 

She will resolue your maiestie. (Drum within.} 

Ki. What drum is this that thunders forth 

this march, 

To start the tender Cupid in my bosome? 
Poore shipskin, how it braules with him that 

beateth it! 5 

Go, breaks the thundring parchment bottome 


And I will teach it to conduct sweete lynes 
Vnto the bosome of a heauenly Nymph; 
For I will vse it as my writing paper, 
And so reduce him from a scoulding drum 55 
To be the herald and deare counsaile bearer 
Betwixt a goddesse and a mighty king. 
Go, bid the drummer learne to touch the Lute, 
Or hang him in the braces of his drum, 
For now we thinke it an vnciuill thing, 60 
To trouble heauen with such harsh resounds: 
Away! [Exit. 

The quarrell that I haue requires no armes 
But these of myne: and these shall meete my 


In a deepe march of penytrable grones; 65 
My eyes shall be my arrowes, and my sighes 
Shall serue me as the vantage of the winde, 
To wherle away my sweetest artyllerie. 
Ah, but, alas, she winnes the sunne of me, 
For that is she her selfe, and thence it comes 70 
Taat Poets tearme the wanton warriour blinde; 
But loue hath eyes as iudgement to his steps,' 
Till too much loued glory dazles them. 

Enter Lodwike. 
How now? 

Lo. My liege, the drum that stroke the 
lusty march, 7S 

38 is Ql is in Q S, etc. 39 abundance Col. : 

ftboundant Qq 41, 42 OIK line in Qo 47 S D add 

56 counsaiie Ql 61 wrth 01 Live ends 

Away Qq 73 too Q S -. two Q 1 'g. /). O f t(r 74 

Stands with Prince Edward, your thrice valiant 


Enter Prince Edward. 
King. I see the boy; oh, how his mothers 


Modeld in his, corrects my straid desire, 
And rates my heart, and chides my theeuish 


Who, being rich ennough in seeing her, 80 
Yet seekes elsewhere: and basest theft is that 
Which cannot cloke it selfe on pouertie. 
Now, boy, what newes? 

Pr. E. I haue assembled, my deare Lord 

and father, 

The choysest buds of all our English blood 85 
For our affaires in Fraunce; and heere we 


To take direction from your maiestie. 
Kin. Still do I see in him deliniate 
His mothers visage; those his eies are hers, 
Who, looking wistely on me, make me blush: 
For faults against themselues giue euidence; 
Lust is a fire, and men like lanthornes show 
Light lust within them selues, euen through 

them selues. 

Away, loose silkes of wauering vanitie! 
Shall the large limmit of faire Brittayne" 95 
By me be ouerthrowne, and shall I not 
Master this little mansion of my selfe? 
Giue me an Armor of eternall steele! 
I go to conquer kings; and shall I not then 
Subdue my selfe? and be my enimie? friend? 
It must not be. Come, boy, forward, ad- 

uaunce! 101 

Lets with our coullours sweete the Aire of 


Enter Lodwike. 
Lo. My liege, the Countesse with a smiling 

Desires accesse vnto your Maiestie. 

King. Why, there it goes! That verie smile 

others 105 

Hath ransomed captiue Fraunce, and set the 


The Dolphin, and the Peeres at liberty. 
Goe, leaue me, Ned, and reuell with thy friends. 

[Exit Pr. 

Thy mother is but blacke, and thou, like her, 
Dost put it in my minde how f oule she is. no 
Tbe, fetch the Countesse hether in thy hand, 
And let her chase away these winter clouds, 

78 Molded Q S 82 cloke] cheek C 86 in Q : 
to Ql 90 made QS 92 is C : as Qq men (' : 
me Qq lanthorne Qq 94 of Q 2 : or Q 1 9. r > 
Britain- QS 99 not om. C, ffc. 102 sweep C : 
beat 1) 11 2 those ? 



For shee giues beautie both to heauen and 
earth. [Exit Lod. 

The sin is more to hacke and hew poore men, 
Then to embrace in an vnlawfull bed 115 
The register of all rarieties 
Since Letherne Adam till this youngest howre. 

Enter Countesse (escorted by Lodwike}. 
King. Goe, Lodwike, put thy hand into my 

Play, spend, giue, ryot, wast, do what thou 


So thou wilt hence awhile and leaue me heere. 
(Exit Lodowick.) 

Now, my soules plaiefellow, art thou come 121 
To speake the more then heauenly word of 


To my obiection in thy beautious loue? 
Count. My father on his blessing hath com 


King. That thou shalt yeeld to me? 1 25 
Conn. I, deare my liege, your due. 
King. And that, my dearest loue, can be no 


Then right for right and tender loue for loue. 
Count. Then wrong for wrong and endles 

hate for hate. 

But, sith I see your maiestie so bent, 130 
That my vnwillingnes, my husbands loue, 
Your high estate, nor no respect respected 
Can be my helpe, but that your mightines 
Will ouerbeare and awe these deare regards 
I bynd my discontent to my content, 1 35 

And what I would not lie compell I will, 
Prouided that your selfe remoue those lets 
That stand betweene your highnes loue and 

King. Name them, faire Countesse, and, by 

heauen, I will. 

Co. It is their liues that stand betweene our 
loue, 1 40 

That I would haue chokt vp, my soueraigne. 
Ki. Whose liues, my Lady? 
Co. My thrice louing liege, 

Your Queene and Salisbury, my wedded hus 

Who liuing haue that tytle in our loue, 
That we cannot bestow but by their death. 1 45 
Ki. Thy opposition is beyond our Law. 
Co. So is your desire: if the law 
Can hinder you to execute the one, 
Let it forbid you to attempt the other. 
I Cannot thinke you loue me as you say, 150 

113 S. D. a fin- 111 Q'l 116 varieties Col. 

118 my C : thy'fo 120 S. D. add. C 121 art] 

and art C 123 subjection 1> 128 tender C : 

render Qq 139 them C : then <?/ 142 loning Q 1 
147 And so C 


Vnlesse you do make good what you haue 

(King.} No more; thy husband and the 

Queene shall dye. 

Fairer thou art by farre then Hero was, 
Beardles Leander not so strong as I: 
He swome an easie curraunt for his loue, 155 
But I will through a Hellespont of bloud, 
To arryue at Cestus where my Hero lyes. 
Co. Nay, youle do more; youle make the 

Ryuer to 
With their hart bloods that keepe our loue 

Of which my husband and your wife are 

twayne. 1 60 

Ki. Thy beauty makes them guilty of their 


And giues in euidence that they shall dye; 
Vpon which verdict I, their ludge, condemne 


Co. (Aside.} periurde beautie, more cor 
rupted ludge 1 
When to the great Starre- chamber ore our 

heads 165 

The vniuersell Sessions cals to count 
This packing euill, we both shall tremble for it. 
Ki. What saies my faire loue? is she 

Co. Resolute to be dissolude; and, therefore, 

Eeepe but thy word, great king, and I am 

thine. 1 70 

Stand where thou dost, ile part a little from 

And see how I will yeeld me to thy hands. 

(turning suddenly upon him, and 
shewing two Daggers.} 

Here by my side doth hang my wedding knifes : 
Take thou the one, and with it kill thy Queene, 
And learne by me to finde her where she lies; 
And with this other Ile dispatch my loue, 176 
Which now lies fast a sleepe within my hart: 
When they are gone, then Ile consent to 


Stir not, lasciuious king, to hinder me; 
My resolution is more nimbler far, 1 80 

Then thy preuention can be in my rescue, 
And if thou stir, I strike; therefore, stand still, 
And heare the choyce that I will put thee to: 
Either sweare to leaue thy most vnholie sute 
And neuer hence forth to solicit me; 1 85 

Or else, by heauen, this sharpe poynted knyfe 

152 Prefix om. 01 156 through Qff: throng 

1 Hellespont conj. T : hellie spout Q q 157 To 
om. C. at] that C 164 S. D. add. WP 168 resolude 
WP 169 Resolv'd conj. C: Resolude VP S. 1>. 
add. C 176 this] the Q8 


Shall staine thy earth with that which thou 

would stains, 
My poore chast blood. Sweare, Edward, 


Or I will strike and die before thee heere. 
King. Euen by that power I sweare, that 

giues me now * 90 

The power to be ashamed of my selfe, 
I neuer meane to part my lips againe 
In any words that tends to such a sute. 
Arise, true English Ladie, whom our lie 194 
May better boast of then euer Romaine might 
Of her, whose ransackt treasurie hath taskt 
The vaine indeuor of so many pens: 
Ariae; and be my fault thy honors fame, 
Which after ages shall enrich thee with. 
I am awaked from this idle dreame. 200 
Warwike, my Sonne, Darby, Artoys, and 

Audley ! 
Braue warriours all, where are you all this 


Enter all. 

Warwike, I make thee Warden of the North: 
Thou, Prince of Wales, and Audley, straight 

to Sea; 

Secure to New-hauen; some there staie for me: 
My selfe, Artoys, and Darby will through 

Flaunders, 206 

To greete our friends there and to craue their 


This night will scarce suffice me to discouer 
My follies seege against a faithfull louer; 
For, ere the Sunne shal guilde the esterne skie, 
Wele wake him with our Marshall harmonic. 


(ACT m. 

Flanders. The French Camp.} 
Enter King lohn of Fraunce, his two sonnes, 
Charles of Normandie, and Phillip, and 
the Duke of Lorraine. 
King lohn. Heere, till our Nauie of a thou - 

sand saile 

Haue made a breakfast to our foe by Sea, 
Let vs incampe, to wait their happie speede. 
Lorraine, what readines is Edward in? 
How hast thou heard that he prouided is 5 
Of marshiall furniture for this exployt? 

Lo. To lay aside vnnecessary soothing, 
And not to spend the time in circumstaunce, 
Tis bruted for a certenty, my Lord. 
That hees exceeding strongly fortified; 10 

187 wouldst OS, efc. 
ild C : gui 
conj. pr. ed. 

, . 204 Thou] You C 210 
gild C : guide Qq Act III. efc. add. C 2 to] of 


His subiects flocke as willingly to warre, 
As if vnto a tryumph they were led. 

Ch. England was wont to harbour malcon - 


Blood thirsty and seditious Catelynes, 
Spend thrifts, and such as gape for nothing else 
But changing and alteration of the state; 1 6 
And is it possible 
That they are now so loyall in them selues? 

Lo. All but the Scot, who sollemnly protests, 
As heeretofore I haue enformd his grace, 20 
Neuer to sheath his Sword or take a truce. 
lo. Ah, thats the anchredge of some better 


But, on the other side, to thinke what friends 
King Edward hath retaynd in Netherland, 
Among those euer -bibbing Epicures, 25 

Those frothy Dutch men, puft with double 

That drinke and swill in euery place they 


Doth not a little aggrauate mine ire; 
Besides, we heare, the Emperor conioynes, 
And stalls him in his owne authoritie: 30 
But, all the mightier that their number is, 
The greater glory reapes the victory. 
Some friends haue we beside domesticke 


The sterne Polonian, and the warlike Dane, 
The king of Bohemia, and of Cycelie, 35 

Are all become confederates with vs, 
And, as I thinke, are marching hither apace. 
(Drum within.} 

But soft, I heare the musicke of their drums, 
By which I gesse that their approch is neare. 

Enter the King of Bohemia, with Danes, and 
a Polonian Captaine, with other soldiers, 
another way. 

King of Boheme. King lohn of Fraunce, as 
league and neighborhood 40 

Requires, when friends are any way distrest, 
I come to aide thee with my countries force. 
Pol. Cap. And from great Musco, fearefull 

to the Turke, 

And lofty Poland, nurse of hardie men, 
I bring these seruitors to fight for thee, 45 
Who willingly will venture in thy cause. 
K. lo. Welcome, Bohemian king, and wel 
come all: 

This your great kindnesse I will not forget. 
Besides your plentiful rewards in Crownes, 
That from our Treasory ye shall receiue, 50 
There comes a hare braind Nation, deckt in 

17, 18 One line Q2 33 domestick C: drum 

stricke Q I : dnunsticke Q 2 37 S. D. add. C 


The spoyle of whortfe will be a trebble gaine. 
And now my hope is full, my ioy complete: 
At Sea, we are as puissant as the force 
Of Agamemnon in the Hauen of Troy; 55 
By land, with Zerxes we compare of strength, 
Whose souldiers drancke vp riuers in their 


Then, Bayardlike, blinde, ouerweaning Ned, 
To reach at our imperiall dyadem 
Is either to be swallowed of the waues, 60 
Or hackt a peeces when thou comest ashore. 

Enter (Marriner). 
Mar. Neere to the cost I haue discride, my 


As I was busie in my watchfull charge, 
The proud Armado of king Edwards ships: 
Which, at the first, far off when I did ken, 65 
Seemd as it were a groue of withered pines; 
But, drawing neere, their glorious bright 

Their streaming Ensignes, wrought of coul- 

loured silke, 

Like to a meddow full of sundry flowers, 
Adornes the naked bosome of the earth: 70 
Maiesticall the order of their course, 
Figuring the horned Circle of the Moone: 
And on the top gallant of the Admirall 
And likewise all the handmaides of his trayne 
The Armes of England and of Fraunce vnite 75 
Are quartred equally by Heralds art: 
Thus, titely carried with a merrie gale, 
They plough the Ocean hitherward amayne. 
(K. lohn.) Dare he already crop the Flewer 

de Luce? 

I hope, the hony being gathered thence, 80 
He, with the spider, afterward approcht, 
Shall sucke forth deadly venom from the 


But wheres our Nauy? how are they prepared 
To wing them selues against this flight of 

Ma. They, hauing knowledge, brought 

them by the scouts, 85 

Did breake from Anchor straight, and, puft 

with rage 

No otherwise then were their sailes with winde, 
Made forth, as when the empty Eagle flies, 
To satisfie his hungrie griping mawe. 

lo. Theres for thy newes. Returne vnto 

thybarke; 90 

And if thou scape the bloody strooke of warre 
And do suruiue the conflict, come againe, 

r .2 gaine Q S : game Q J 61 &'. T). Marriner add. 
QS 02 discride Q2 : discribde Q 1 73 And nm. 
<' 79 Prefix out. 01 84 fleete S 8;> satifie 
Ql COThees?/ 

And let vs heare the manner of the fight. 

[Exit (Marriner). 

Meane space, my Lords, tis best we be disperst 
To seuerall places, least they chaunce to land: 
First you, my Lord, with your Bohemian 
Troupes, 9 6 

Shall pitch your battailes on the lower hand; 
My eldest sonne, the Duke of Normandie, 
Togeither with this aide of Muscouites, 
Shall clyme the higher ground another waye; 
Heere in the middle cost, betwixt you both, 
PhiJlip, my yongest boy, and I will lodge. 
So, Lords, be gon, and looke vnto your charge: 
You stand for Fraunce, an Empire faire and 
large. [Ex(e)unt. 

Now tell me, Phillip, what is thy concept, 105 
I Touching the challenge that the English make? 
Ph. I say, my Lord, clayme Edward what 

he can, 

And bring he nere so playne a pedegree, 
I Tis you are in possession of the Crowne, 
And thats the surest poynt of all the Law: no 
But, were it not, yet ere he should preuaile, 
He make a Conduit of my dearest blood, 
Or chase those stragling vpstarts home againe. 
King. Well said, young Phillip! Call for 
bread and Wine, 114 

That we may cheere our stomacks with repast, 
To looke our foes mors sternely in the face. 

(A Table and Provisions brought in.) The 
battell hard a farre off. 

I Now is begun the heauie day at Sea: 
Fight, Frenchmen, fight; be like the fielde of 

When they defend their younglings in their 


Stir, angry Nemesis, the liappie helms. 120 
That, with the sulphur battels of your rage, 
The English Fleete may be disperst and sunke. 

Ph. Father, how this eckoing Cannon 


Like sweete hermonie, disgests my cates! 
K. la. Now, boy, thou hearest what thun - 
dring terror tis, 125 

To buckle for a kingdomes souerentie: 
The earth, with giddie trembling when it 


Or when the exalations of the aire 
Breakes in extremitie of lightning flash, 
Affrights not more then kings, when they dis 
pose 13 

03 S. I>. Marriner cm. Q 1 104 S. D. after 103 in 
Q.i 105 thy conceite 02 : their concept Q 1 116 
,v. I). lirackdcd trords add. C 120 Stir Qq : Steer C 
124 sweetest C, etc. 125 ends thundring QS 



To shew the rancor of their high swolne harts. 


Retrea(t)e is sounded; one side hath the worse: 
0, if it be the French, sweete fortune, turne; 
And, in thy turning, change the forward winds, 
That, with aduantage of a fauoring skie, 1 35 
Our men may vanquish, and the other flie! 

Enter Marriner. 

My hart misgiues: say, mirror of pale death, 
To whome belongs the honor of this day? 
Relate, I pray thee, if thy breath will serue, 
The sad discourse of this discomfiture. 1 4 

Mar. I will, my Lord. 
My gratious soueraigne, Fraunce hath tane 

the foyle, 

And boasting Edward triumphs with successe. 
These Iron harted Nauies, 
When last I was reporter to your grace, 1 45 
Both full of angry spleene, of hope, and f eare, 
Hasting to meete each other in the face, 
At last conioynd; and by their Admirall 
Our Admirall encountred manie shot: 
By this, the other, that beheld these twaine 1 50 
Giue earnest peny of a further wracke. 
Like fiery Dragons tooke their haughty flight; 
And, likewise meeting, from their smoky 


Sent many grym Embassadors of death. 
Then gan the day to turne to gloomy night, 155 
And darkenes did as wel inclose the quicke 
As those that were but newly reft of life. 
No leasure serud for friends to bid farewell; 
And, if it had, the hideous noise was such, 
As ech to other seemed deafe and dombe. 1 60 
Purple the Sea, whose channel fild as fast 
With streaming gore, that from the maymed 


As did her gushing moysture breake into 
The crannied cleftures of the through shot 

planks.. 164 

Heere flew a head, disseuered from the tronke, 
There mangled armes and legs were tost aloft, 
As when a wherle winde takes the Summer 


And scatters it in middle of ths aire. 
Then might ye see the reeling vessels split, 
And tottering sink into the ruthlesse floud, 1 70 
Vntill their lofty tops were scene no more. 
All shifts were tried, both for defence and hurt: 
And now the effect of vallor and of force, 
Of resolution and of cowardize, 
We liuely pictured; how the one for fame, 175 

131 S. D. af let- 132 Qq 134 froward QS 135 

sauoring Q 1 136 the other C : thither Q 1 : th' 

other Qg 164 crannied WP: cranny 'd C : cranny 
Qy 105 dissuuered 07 173 force! fear C, etc. 

1 7-1 of] ol'aQl 1 75 We] Were C 

The other by compulsion laid about: 
Much did the Nonpar eille, that braue ship; 
So did the blacke snake of Bullen, then which 
A bonnier vessel neuer yet spred sayle. 
But all in vaine; both Sunne, the Win(d)e and 
tyde, 1 80 

Reuolted all vnto our foe mens side, 
That we perforce were fayne to giue them way, 
And they are landed. Thus my tale is donne: 
We haue vntimly lost, and they haue woone. 
K. lo. Then rests there nothing, but with 
present speede 1 85 

To ioyne our seueral forces al in one, 
And bid them battaile, ere they rainge to farre. 
Come, gentle Phillip, let vs hence depart; 
This souldiers words haue perst thy fathers 
hart. [Exeunt. 


Picardy. Fields near Cressi.) 
Enter two French men; a woman and two little 

Children meet them, and other Citizens. 
One. Wel met, my masters: how now? 

whats the newes? 

And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuffe? 
What, is it quarter daie that you remoue, 
And carrie bag and baggage too? 
Two. Quarter day? I, and quartering day, 
I feare: 5 

Haue ye not heard the newes that flies abroad? 
One. What newes? 
Three. How the French Nauy is destroyd 

at Sea, 

And that the English Armie is arriued. 
One. What then? 10 

Two. What then, quoth you? why, ist not 

time to flie, 

When enuie and destruction is so nigh? 
One. Content thee, man; they are farre 

enough from hence, 

And will be met, I warrant ye, to their cost, 
Before they breake so far into the Realme. 15 
Two. I, so the Grashopper doth spend the 


In mirthfull iollitie, till Winter come; 
And then too late he would redeeme his time, 
When frozen cold hath nipt his carelesse 


He, that no sooner will prouide a Cloake, 20 
Then when he sees it doth begin to raigne, 
May, peraduenture, for his negligence, 
Be throughly washed, when he suspe3ts it 

177 Nonpareille C : Nom per ilia Qq 180 Wine 
Q 1 : winde QS Scene II. etc. o<W. C S. D. and 
other QS : another Ql 5 quartering pay 01 6 
ye] we Q 1 22 negligence Q 1 


We that haue charge and such a trayne as 

this, 24 

Must looke in time to looke for them and vs, 

Least, when we would, we cannot be relieued. 

One. Belike, you then dispaire of all suc- 


And thinke your Country will be subiugate. 
Three. We cannot tell; tis good to feare the 


One. Yet rather fight, then, like vnnaturall 
sonnes, 30 

Forsake your louing parents in distresse. 
Two. Tush, they that baue already taken 

arm es 

Are manie fearef ull millions in respect 
Of that small handfull of our enimies: 
But tis a rightfull quarrell must preuaile; 35 
Edward is sonne vnto our late kings sister, 
Where lohn Valoys is three degrees remoued. 
Wo. Besides, there goes a Prophesie abroad, 

All which, though distant yet, conspire in one, 
To leaue a desolation where they come. 
Flie therefore, Citizens, if you be wise, 
Seeke out som habitation further of: 70 

Here if you staie, your wiues will be abused, 
Your treasure sharde before your weeping eies ; 
Shelter you your selues, for now the storme 

doth rise. 
Away, away ; me thinks I heare their 


Ah, wreched France, I greatly feare thy fal; 
Thy glory shake th like a tottering wall. 76 



The same. Drums.} 
Enter King Edward, and the Erie of Darby, 

With Souldiors, and Gobin de Graie. 
Kin. Wheres the French man by whose 
cunning guide 

Published by one that was a Fryer once, 39 i We found the shalow of this Riuer Some, 

Whose Oracles haue many times prooued true; 
And now he sayes, the tyme will shortly come, 
When as a Lyon, rowsed in the west, 
Shall carie hence the fluerdeluce of France: 
These, I can tell yee, and such like surmises 
Strike many french men cold vnto the heart. 

Enter a French man. 
(Four.} Flie, cuntry men and cytizens of 

France I 46 

Sweete flowring peace, the roote of happie lif e, 
Is quite abandoned and expulst the lande; 
In sted of whome ransackt constraining warre 
Syts like to Rauens vppon your houses topps; 
Slaughter and mischiefe walke within your 

streets, 51 

And, vnrestrained, make hauock as they passe; 
The forme whereof euen now my selfe beheld 
Vpon this faire mountaine whence I came. 
For so far of as I directed mine eies, 55 

I might perceaue flue Cities all on fire, 
Corne fieldes and vineyards, burning like an 


And, as the reaking vapour in the wind 
Tourned but aside, I like wise might disserne 
The poore inhabitants, escapt the flame, 60 
Fall number les vpon the souldiers pikes. 
Three waies these dredfull ministers of wrath 
Do tread the measuers of their tragicke march: 
Vpon the right hand comes the conquering 


Vpon the lefte his hot vnbridled sonne, 65 
And in the midst our nations glittering boast; 

46 \o lift fix in Qq 58 recking 
59 I tourned but Qq : Turin d 

_>7allC: ill Qq 
conj. C: leaking 
C 63 bis] is Q 

And had direction how to passe the sea? 
Go. Here, my good Lord. 4 

Kin. How art thou calde? tell me thy name. 
Go. Gobin de Graie, if please your excel 
Kin. Then, Gobin, for the seruice thou hast 


We here inlarge and giue thee liberty; 
And, for recompense; beside this good, 
Thou shalt receiue flue hundred markes in 
golde. 10 

I know not how, we should haue met our 

Whom now in heart I wish I might behold. 

Enter Artoyes. 
(Art.} Good newes, my Lord; the prince is 

hard at hand, 

And with him comes Lord Awdley and the 

rest, 14 

Whome since our landing we could neuer meet. 

Enter Prince Edward, Lord Awdley, and 

K. E. Welcome, faire Prince 1 How hast 

thou sped, my sonne, 

Since thy arriuall on the coaste of Fraunce? 
Pr. Ed. Succesfullie, I thanke the gratious 


Some of their strongest Cities we haue wonne, 
As Harflew, Lo, Crotay, and Carentigne, 20 
And others wasted, leauing at our heeles 
A wide apparant feild and beaten path 

73 you om. C, etc. 76 S. D. out. Ql Scene III. 
ilc. add. C 1 guide Qq : guidance C; etc. -' fcouw 
WP : Sone Qq 9 for] for a C 13 Prcfijc out. Q 1 
20 Harslen, Lie, Ciotag Qq : Harfleur, Lo, Crotage C 


For sollitarines to progresse in: 

Yet those that would submit we kindly 

But who in scorne refused our proffered 

peace, 2 S 

Indurde the penaltie of sharpe reuenge. 
Ki. Ed. Ah, Fraunce, why shouldest thou 

be thus obstinate 

Agaynst the kind imbracement of thy friends? 
How gently had we thought to touch thy brest 
And set our foot vpon thy tender mould, 3 
But that, in froward and disdainfull pride, 
Thou, like a skittish and vntamed coult, 
Dost start aside and strike vs with thy heeles ! 
But tel me, Ned, in all thy warlike course, 
Hast thou not scene the vsurping King of 

Fraunce? 35 

Pri. Yes, my good Lord, and not two owers 


With full a hundred thousand fighting men 
Vppon the one side of the riuers banke 
And on the other both, his multitudes. 
I f card he would haue cropt our smaller power : 
But happily, perceiuing your approch, 41 

He hath with drawen himselfe to Cressey 


Where, as it seemeth by his good araie, 
He meanea to byd vs battaile presently. 
Kin. Ed. He shall be welcome; thats the 

thing we craue. 45 

Enter King lohn, Dukes of Normanndy and 

Lorraine, King of Boheme, yong Phillip, 

and Souldiers. 
lohn. Edward, know that lohn, the true 

king of Fraunce, 

Musing thou shouldst incroach vppon his land, 
And in thy tyranous proceeding slay 
His faithf ull subiects and subuert his Townes, 
Spits in thy face; and in this manner folowing 
Obraids thee with thine arrogant intrusion : 5 1 
First, I condeme thee for a fugitiue, 
A theeuish pyrate, and a needie mate, 
One that hath either no abyding place, 
Or else, inhabiting some barraine soile, 55 
Where neither hearb or frutfull graine is had, 
Doest altogether liue by pilfering: 
Next, insomuch thou hast infringed thy faith, 
Broke leage and solemne couenant made with 


I hould thee for a false pernitious wretch: 60 
And, last of all, although I scorne to cope 
With one so much inferior to my selfe, 

Yet, in respect thy thirst is all for golde, 
i Thy labour rather to be feared then loued, 
i To satisfie thy lust in either parte, 65 

Heere am I come, and with me haue I brought 
Exceding store of treasure, perle, and coyne. 
Leaue, therfore, now to persecute the weake, 
And, armed entring conflict with the armd, 
i Let it be seene, mongest other pettie thefts, 70 
i How thou canst win this pillage manfully. 
K. Ed. If gall or wormwood haue a pleasant 


: Then is thy sallutation hony sweete; 
i But as the one hath no such propertie, 

So is the other most satiricall. 75 

; Yet wot how I regarde thy worthies tants : 
If thou haue vttred them to foile my fame 
Or dym the reputation of my birth, 
Know that thy woluish barking cannot hurt; 
! If slylie to insinuate with the worlde, 80 

And with a strumpets artifitiall line 
To painte thy vitious and deformed cause, 
Bee well assured, the counterfeit will fade, 
And in the end thy fowle defects be seene; 
But if thou didst it to prouoke me on, 85 

As who should saie I were but timerous. 
Or, coldly negligent, did need a spurre, 
Bethinke thy selfe howe slacke I was at sea, 
How since my landing I haue wonn no townea, 
Entered no further but vpon the coast, 90 

And there haue euer since securelie slept. 
But if I haue bin other wise imployd, 
I Imagin, Valoys, whether I intende 
i To skirmish, not for pillage, but for the 


Which thou dost weare; and that I vowe to 
haue, 95 

Or one of vs shall fall into his graue. 

Pri. Ed. Looke not for crosse inuectiues at 

our hands, 

| Or ray ling execrations of despight: 
; Let creeping serpents, hid in hollow banckes, 
Sting with theyr tongues; we haue remorselcs 
swordes, i oo 

And they shall pleade for vs and our affaires. 
Yet thus much, breefly, by my fathers leaue: 
As all the immodest poyson of thy throat 
Is scandalous and most notorious lyes, 
And our pretended quarell is truly iust, 105 
So end the battaile when we meet to daie: 
May eyther of vs prosper and preuaile, 
Or, luckles curst, receue eternall shame 1 
Kin. Ed. That needs no further question ; 
and I knowe, 

->o But cow.;. C : For 0? pottered 7 :.>7 thus 4? : 
this 07 37 an g 3 38 of] with ? : o' C 39 I 01 
the other ; with f . c/c. 60 false] most Q 3 e 

. . 
so much C : such Qj : such an 1> 

64 Thy] They 07 06 I huuc 0. 3 77 soil con.i. 
81 line] hue con/. Col. 8rt How (.': Now Of 

>-> j 90 the] thy Q c> 9-2 otherwayes () - 
' the C' VG his] this Q 1 09 hide Q I 


;>4 for the] 
105 is out. V 


His conscience witnesseth, it is my right. no 
Therfore, Valoys, say, wilt thou yet resigne, 
Before the sickles thrust into the Corne, 
Or that inkindled fury turne to flame? 
loh. Edward, I know what right thou hast 

in France; 

And ere I basely will resigne my Crowne, 115 
This Champion field shallbe a poole of bloode, 
And all our prospect as a slaughter house. 
Pr. Ed. I, that approues thee, tyrant, what 

thou art: 

No father, king, or shepheard of thy realme, 
But one, that teares her entrailes with thy 

handes, 120 

And, like a thirstie tyger, suckst her bloud. 
Aud. You peeres of France, why do you 

follow him 

That is so prodigall to spend your liues? 
Ch. Whom should they follow, aged 


But he that is their true borne soueraigne? 1 2 5 
Kin. Obraidst thou him, because within 

his face 

Time hath ingraud deep caracters of age? 
Know, these graue schollers of experience, 
Like stiff e growen oakes, will stand immou- 

When whirle wind quickly turnes vp yonger 

trese. 130 

Dor. Was euer anie of thy fathers house 
King but thyself e, before this present time? 
Edwards great linage, by the mothers side, 
Fiue hundred yeeres hath helde the scepter vp: 
ludge then, conspiratours, by this descent, 135 
Which is the true borne soueraigne, this or 

Philip. Father, range your battailes, prate 

no more; 
These English faine would spend the time in 

That, night approching, they might escape 

K. loh. Lords and my louing Subiects, 

nowes the time, 1 4 

That your intended force must bide the touch. 
Therfore, my f rinds, consider this in breefe: 
He that you fight for is your naturall King; 
He against whom you fight, a forrener: 
He that you fight for, rules in clemencie, 145 
And raines you with a mild and gentle byt; 
He against whome you fight, if hee preuailc, 
Will straight inthrone himselfe in tyrranie, 
Make slaues of you, and with a heauie hand 

113 turned QS 11(5 cliaiupain Cut. 1-0 tcarst 
coiij. C 128 Know that these tyj 131 Liiu tmlx 
king 0-c 134 helde] kept (J V 137 I'nfix Philip 
Q S : Pri. Q 1 138 vvodib 1 140 iiowesj knowts 
W 144 you] ye Qg 

Curtail and courb your swetest libertie. 150 
Then, to protect your Country and your 


Let but the haughty Courrage of your hartes 
Answere the number of your able handes, 
And we shall quicklie chase theis fugitiues. 
For whats this Edward but a belly god, 155 
A tender and lasciuious wantonnes, 
That thother daie was almost dead for loue? 
And what, I praie you, is his goodly gard? 
Such as, but scant them of their chines of 


And take awaie their downie f eatherbedes, 1 60 
And presently they are as resty stiffe, 
As twere a many ouer ridden iades. 
Then, French men, scorne that such should be 

your Lords, 

And rather bind ye them in captiue bands. 
All Fro. Viue le Roy 1 God saue King lohn 

of France! 165 

lo. Now on this plaine of Cressie spred your 

And. Edward, when thou darest, begin the 


(Exeunt King lohn, Cha., Phi., Lor., 

Boh. and Forces.} 

Ki. Ed. We presently wil meet thee, lohn 

of Fraunce: 
And, English Lordes, let vs resolue this 


Either to cleere vs of that scandalous cryme, 
Or be intombed in our innocence. 171 

And, Ned, because this battell is the first 
That euer yet thou foughtest in pitched field, 
As ancient custome is of Martialists, 
To dub thee with the tipe of chiualrie, 175 
In solemne manner wee will giue thee armes. 
Come, therefore, Heralds, orderly bring forth 
A strong attirement for the prince my sonne. 

Enter joure Heraldes, bringing in a coate 
armour, a helmet, a lance, and a shield. 
Kin. Edward Plantagenet, in the name of 


As with this armour I impall thy breast, 1 80 
So be thy noble vnrelenting heart 
Wald in with flint of matchlesse fortitude, 
That neuer base affections enter there: 
Fight and be valiant, conquere where thou 


Now follow, Lords, and do him honor to. 1 85 
Dar. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales, 
As I do set this helmet on thy head, 
Wherewith the chamber of thy braine is 

167 S. D. add. C 169 this (' : the (J't 171 iu- 
uuceucie QX 188 thy C : this Qq 



So may thy temples, with Bellonas hand, 
Be still adornd with lawrell victorie: 1 90 

Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou 


Aud. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales, 
Receiue this lance into thy manly hand; 
Vse it in fashion of a brasen pen, 194 

To drawe forth bloudie stratagems in France, 
And print thy valiant deeds in honors booke: 
Fight and be valiant, vanquish where thou 


Art. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales, 
Hold, take this target, weare it on thy 

And may the view thereof, like Perseus 

shield, 200 

Astonish and transforme thy gazing foes 
To senselesse images of meger death: 
Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou 


Ki. Now wants there nought but knight 
hood, which deferd 

Wee leaue, till thou hast won it in the fielde. 
(P. Ed.} My gratious father and yee for- 

warde peeres, 206 

This honor you haue done me, animates 
And chears my greene, yet scarse appearing 


With comfortable good presaging signes, 
No other wise then did ould lacobes wordes, 
When as he breathed his blessings on his 

sonnes. 211 

These hallowed giftes of yours when I pro- 


Or vse them not to glory of my God, 
To patronage the fatherles and poore, 
Or for the benefite of Englands peace, 215 
Be numbe my ioynts, waxe feeble both mine 


Wither my hart, that, like a saples tree, 
I may remayne the map of infamy. 

K. Ed. Then thus our steelde Battailes shall 

be rainged: 

The leading of the vawarde, Ned, is thyne; 220 
To dignifie whose lusty spirit the more, 
We temper it with Audlys grauitie, 
That, courage and experience ioynd in one, 
Your manage may be second vnto none: 
For the mayne battells, I will guide my 

selfe; 225 

And, Darby, in the rereward march behind. 
That orderly disposd and set in ray, 
Let vs to horse; and God graunt vs the daye! 


l'>3 manly] manlike Q * 197 vanquish] conquer 
QS, etc. 20(1 Prefix u,,,. Q I 209 persaging Q J 

!>10 Hlllal tl.ia f\ I OOA ,.,...,,1 r: 1 * ' 

s] this Q 1 220 vowarde Q 1 


The Same.) 

Alarum. Enter a many French men flying. 
After them Prince Edward, run(n}ing. Then 
enter King lohn and Duke of Loraine. 
lohn. Oh, Lorrain, say, what meane our 

men to fly? 
Our nomber is far greater then our foes. 

Lor. The garrison of Genoaes, my Lorde, 
That cam from Paris weary with their 


Grudging to be (so) soddenly imployd, 5 
No sooner in the forefront tooke their place, 
But, straite retyring, so dismaide the rest, 
As likewise they betook themselues to flight, 
i In which, for hast to make a safe escape, 
| More in the clustering throng are prest to 
death, 10 

i Then by the ennimie, a thousand fold. 

K. lo. haplesse fortune! Let vs yet assay, 
I If we can counsell some of them to stay. 



The Same.} 
Enter King Edward and Audley. 

Ki. E. Lord Audley, whiles our sonne is in 

the chase, 

With draw our powers vnto this little hill, 
And heere a season let vs breath our selues. 
An. I will, my Lord. [Exit. Sound Retreat. 
K. Ed. lust dooming heauen, whose secret 
prouidence 5 

j To our grosse iudgement is inscrutable, 
; How are we bound to praise thy wondrous 


That hast this day giuen way vnto the right, 
And made the wicked stumble at them selues! 

Enter Artoys. 

(Art.} Rescue, king Edward! rescue for 
thy sonne! 10 

Kin. Rescue, Artoys? what, is he prisoner, 
Or by violence fell beside his horse? 

Ar. Neither, my Lord; but narrowly beset 

With turning Frenchmen, whom he did persue, 

As tis impossible that he should scape, 1 5 

Except your highnes presently descend. 

Kin. Tut, let him fight; we gaue him armes 

to day, 
And he is laboring for a knighthood, man. 

Scene IV. t!c. mid. (', 5 so add. C 10 throng] 
through Q2 l:i X. /). om. Ql Scene V. dr. 
odd. C 2 our] your Q , etc. 10 Pnfix om. Q I 

12 Or] Or else C 



Enter Derby. 
Da. The Prince, my Lord, the Prince! oh, 

succour him! 

Hees close incompast with a world of odds ! 20 
Ki. Then will he win a world of honor to, 
If he by vallour can redeeme him thence; 
If not, what remedy? we haue more sonnes 
Then one, to comfort our declyning age. 

Enter Audley. 
Au. Renowned Edward, giue me leaue, I 

pray, 25 

To lead my souldiers where I may releeue 
Your Graces sonne, in danger to be slayne. 
The snares of French, like Emmets on a banke, 
Muster about him; whilest he, Lion like, 
Intangled in the net of their assaults, 30 

Frantiquely wrends, and byt(e)s the wouen 


But all in vaine, he cannot free him selfe. 
K. Ed. Audley, content; I will not haue a 


On paine of death, sent forth to succour him: 
This is the day, ordaynd by desteny, 35 

To season his courage with those greeuous 

That, if he breaketh out, Nestors yeares on 


Will make him sauor still of this exployt. 
Dar. Ah, but he shall not liue to see those 

Ki. Why, then his Epitaph is lasting prayse. 

Au. Yet, good my Lord, tis too much wil- 

fulnes, 4 ' 

To let his blood be spilt, that may be saude. 

Kin. Exclayme no more; for none of you 

can tell 

Whether a borrowed aid will serue, or no; 
Perhapps he is already slayne or tane. 45 
And dare a Falcon when shees in her flight, 
And euer after sheele be haggard like: 
Let Edward be deliuered by our hands, 
And still, in danger, hele expect the like; 
But if himself e himself e redeeme from thence, 
He wil haue vanquisht cheerefull death and 
f eare, 5 ' 

And euer after dread their force no more 
Then if they were but babes or Captiue slaues. 
And. cruell Father! Farewell, Edward, 


Da. Farewell, sweete Prince, the hope of 
chiualry! 55 

Art. 0, would my life might ransome him 
from death! 

36 his green coinage with those thoughts C 37 
breathe out conj. C 47 huggard Q 1 

K. Ed. But soft, me thinkes I heare 

(Retreat sounded.} 

The dismall charge of Trumpets loud retreat. 
All are not slayne, I hope, that went with him; 
Some will returne with tidings, good or bad. 60 

Enter Prince Edward in tryumph, bearing in 
his hande his shiuered Launce, and the 
King of Boheme, borne before, wrapt in 
the Coullours. They runne and imbrace 
And. ioyfull sight! victorious Edward 


Der. Welcome, braue Prince! 
Ki. Welcome, Plantagenet! 
Pr. (kneele and kisse his fathers hand). First 

hauing donne my duety as beseemed, 
Lords, I regreet you all with harty thanks. 65 
And now, behold, after my winters toyle, 
My paynef ull voyage on the boystrous sea 
Of warres deuouring gulphes and steely rocks, 
I bring my fraught vnto the wished port, 
My Summers hope, my trauels sweet reward: 
j And heere, with humble duety, I present 71 
This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword, 
: Cropt and cut downe euen at the gate of death, 
The king of Boheme, father, whome I slue; 
Whose thousands had intrencht me round 
about, 75 

, And laye as thicke vpon my battered crest, 
: As on an Anuell, with their ponderous glaues: 
i Yet marble courage still did vnderprop; 
And when my weary armes, with often blowes, 
Like the continuall laboring Wood-mans Axe 
That is enioynd to fell a load of Oakes, 81 
Began to faulter, straight I would recorde 
My gifts you gaue me, and my zealous vow, 
And then new courage made me fresh againe, 
That, in despight, I carud my passage forth, 85 
i And put the multitude to speedy flyght. 
Lo, thus hath Edwards hand fild your request, 
i And done, I hope, the duety of a Knight. 
Ki. I, well thou hast deserud a knight 
hood, Ned! 

; And, therefore, with thy sword, yet reaking 
warme 9 

[His Sword borne by a Soldier. 
With blood of those that fought to be thy bane, 
Arise, Prince Edward, trusty knight at armes: 
; This day thou hast confounded me with ioy, 
And proude thy selfe fit heire vnto a king. 
Pr. Heere is a note, my gratious Lord, of 
those 95 

57 S. D. add. C 75 Whose thousands C : AVhom 
you sayd Qq 82 recorde pr. (d. : recouer Qq : re 
member C 85 caru'd Q2 : craud Ql 87 thus Q2 
this Ql 00 6'. D. after 86 in Ql 91 sought T 



It shal be so, this pollicy will serue: 
Ho, whose within? Bring Villiers to me. 

That in this conflict of our foes were slaine: 
Eleuen Princes of esteeme, Foure score Barons, 
A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty 


Common souldiers; and,of ourmen,athousand. Villiers, thou knowest, thou art my prisoner, 
(K. Ed.} Our God be praised! Now, lohn And that I might for ransome, if I would, 21 

Require of thee a hundred thousand Francks, 

Enter Villeirs. 

(K. Ed.) Our God be praised! 

of Fraunce, I hope, i 

Thou knowest King Edward for no wantonesse, 
No loue sicke cockney, nor his souldiers iades. 
But which way is the f earef ull king escapt? 

Pr. Towards Poyctiers, noble father, and 
his sonnes. 

King. Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue 
them still; "5 

My selfe and Derby will to Calice streight, 
And there begyrt that Hauen towne with seege. 
Now lies it on an vpshot; therefore strike, 
And wistlie follow, whiles the games on foote. 
What Pictures this? 

Pr. A Pellican, my Lord, no 

Wounding her bosome with her crooked beak, 
That so her nest of young ones may be fed 
With drops of blood that issue from her hart; 
The motto Sic & vos, ' and so should you '. 



Bretagne. Camp of the English.) 
Enter Lord Mountford with a Coronet in his 
hande; with him the Earle of Salisbury. 
Mo. My Lord of Salisbury, since by your 


Mine ennemie Sir Charles of Bloys is slaine, 
And I againe am quietly possest 
In Brittaines Dukedome, knowe that I resolue, 
For this kind furtherance of your king and you, 
To sweare allegeance to his maiesty: 6 

In signe whereof receiue this Coronet, 
Beare it vnto him, and, withall, mine othe, 
Neuer to be but Edwards faithful friend. 
Sa. I take it, Mountfort. Thus, I hope, 
eare long 10 

The whole Dominions of the Realme of 

Wilbe surrendred to his conquering hand. 

[Exit (Mountford.' 

Now, if I knew but safely how to passe, 
I would at Calice gladly meete his Grace 
Whether I am by letters certified 15 

That he intends to haue his host remooude. 


" '" T; 
TTr,* add - 
re What in l 1 

, M Common! Priuate 

* 1 10 Prefix Ki repeated 
12 may] might 



Or else retayne and keepe thee captiue still: 
But so it is, that for a smaller charge 
Thou maist be quit, and if thou wilt thy selfe. 
And this it is: Procure me but a pasport 25 
Of Charles, the Duke of Normandy, that I 
Without restraint may haue recourse to 

Through all the Countries where he hath to 


Which thou maist easely obtayne, I thinke, 
By reason I haue often heard thee say, 30 
He and thou were students once together: 
And then thou shalt be set at libertie. 
How saiest thou? wilt thou vndertake to do 

Vil. I will, my Lord; but I must speake 

with him. 
Sa. Why, so thou shalt; take Horse, and 

post from hence: 35 

Onely before thou goest, sweare by thy faith, 
That, if thou canst not compasse my desire, 
Thou wilt returne my prisoner backe againe; 
And that shalbe sufficient warrant for mee. 

Vil. To that condition I agree, my Lord, 40 
And will vnf aynedly perf orme the same. [Exit. 

Sal Farewell, Villiers. 
Thus once I meane to trie a French mans 

faith. [Exit. 

(SCENE n. 

Picardy. The English Camp before Calais.) 

Enter King Edward and Derby, with Souldiers. 

Kin. Since they refuse our profered league, 

my Lord, 

And will not ope their gates, and let vs in, 
We will intrench our selues on euery side, 
That neither vituals nor supply of men 
May come to succour this accursed towne: 5 
Famine shall combate where our swords are 


Enter sixe poore Frenchmen. 
Der. The promised aid, that made them 

stand aloofe, 

Is now retirdc and gone an other way: 
It will repent them of their stubborne will. 
But what are these poore ragged slaues, my 
Lord? 10 

31 thou] tin-self C wert OS 39 mee] thee C 
43 This conj. C Scene II. etc. add. C 2 their] 
the Q 5 6 S. D. afttr 9 m C sixe] some C 


Ki. Edw. Aske what they are; it seemes, 

they come from Callis. 
Der. You wretched patterns of dispayre 

and woe, 

What are you, liuing men or glyding ghosts, 
Crept from your graues to walke vpon the earth? 
Poore. No ghosts, my Lord, but men that 
breath a life 15 

Farre worse then is the quiet sleepe of death: 
Wee are distressed poore inhabitants, 
That long haue been deseased, sicke, and lame; 
And now, because we are not fit to serue, 
The Captayne of the towne hajth thrust vs 
foorth, . 20 

That so expence of victuals may be saued, 
K. Ed. A charitable deed, no doubt, and 

worthy praise 1 

But how do you imagine then to speed? 
We are your enemies; in such a case 
We can no lesse but put ye to the sword, 25 
Since, when we proffered truce, it was ref usde. 
Poore. And if your grace no otherwise 


As welcome death is vnto vs as life. 
Ki. Poore silly men, much wrongd and 

more distrestl 

Go, Derby, go, and see they be relieud; 30 
Command that victuals be appoynted them, 
And giue to euery one flue Crownes a peece: 

(Exeunt Derby and Frenchmen.) j 
The Lion scornes to touch the yeelding pray, 
And Edwards sword must flesh it self e in such j 
As wilfull stubbornnes hath made peruerse. 35 j 

Enter Lord Pearsie. 
Ki. LordPersiel welcome: whats thenewes 

in England? 
Per. The Queene, my Lord, comes heere 

to your Grace, 

And from hir highnesse and the Lord vicegerent 
I bring this happie tidings of successe: 
Dauid of Scotland, lately vp in armes, 40 

Thinking, belike, he soonest should preuaile, 
Your highnes being absent from the Realme, 
Is, by the fruitfull seruice of your peeres 
And painefull trauell of the Queene her self e, 
That, big with child, was euery day in armes, 45 
Vanquisht, subdude, and taken prisoner. 
Ki. Thanks, Persie, for thy newes, with all 

my hart! 

What was he tooke him prisoner in the field? 
Per. A Esquire, my Lord; lohn Copland is 
his name: 

12 partners QS 13 ye Q2 or] cr Ql 22 no 
doubt oi. C 25 ye] you Q 27 Prefix Poore 
Q2 : So. Ql 2 .V. D. add. C 34 flesh Col. : 

fresh Qq 87 comes heere] commends her C 43 
fruitful!] faithfull Q 2 <4y squire Q 2 

Who since, intreated by her Maiestie, 50 

Denies to make surrender of his prize 
To anie but vnto your grace alone; 
Whereat the Queene is greouously displeasd. 

Ki. Well, then wele haue a Pursiuaunt 


To summon Copland hither out of hand, 55 
And with him he shall bring his prisoner king. 

Per. The Queene's, my Lord, her selfe by 

this at Sea, 

And purposeth, as soone as winde will serue, 
To land at Callis, and to visit you. 

Ki. She shall be welcome; and, to wait her 
comming, 60 

He pitch my tent neere to the sandy shore. 

Enter a (French) Captayne. 
(Captaine.) The Burgesses of Callis, mighty 


Haue by a counsel 1 willingly decreed 
To yeeld the towne and Castle to your hands, 
Vpon condition it will please your grace 65 
To graunt them benefite of life and goods. 
K. Ed. They wil so! Then, belike, they 

may command, 

Dispose, elect, and gouerne as they list. 
No, sirra, tell them, since they did refuse 
Our princely clemencie at first proclaymed, 70 
They shall not haue it now, although they 


(I) will accept of nought but fire and sword, 
Except, within these two daies, sixe of them, 
That a re the w el t hies t mar chaunts in the towne, 
Come naked, all but for their linnen shirts, 75 
With each a halter hangd about his necke, 
And prostrate yeeld themselues, vpon their 


To be afflicted, hanged, or what I please; 
And so you may informe their masterships. 

\Exeunt (Edward and Percy). 
Cap. Why, this it is to trust a broken staff e : 
Had we not been perswaded, lohn our King 
Would with his armie haue releeud the towne, 
We had not stood vpon defiance so: 83 

But now tis past that no man can recall, 
And better some do go to wrack then all. [Exit. 


Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. The French 
camp; Tent of the Duke of Normandy.) 
Enter Charles of Normandy and Villiers. 
Ch. I wounder, Villiers, thou shouldest 
importune me 

54 dispatcli 01 57 Queene 01 61 S. D. French 
add. C MPrtfix add. Qg 72 I will] Will QJ 

73 these] this Q2 79 S. D. BrncMed irords add. C 
Scene III. etc. add. C 



For one that is our deadly ennemie. 

Vil Not for his sake, my gratious Lord, 

so much 

Am I become an earnest aduocate, 
As that thereby my ransome will be quit. 5 

Ch. Thy ransome, man? why needest thou 


Art thou not free? and are not all occasions, 
That happen for aduantage of our foes, 
To be accepted of, and stood vpon? 

Vil No, good my Lord, except the same 
be iust; I0 

For profit must with honor be comixt, 
Or else our actions are but scandalous. 
But, letting passe these intricate obiections, 
Wilt please your highnes to subscribe, or no? 

Ch. Villiers, I will not, nor I cannot do it; 
Salisbury shall not haue his will so much, 1 6 
To clayme a pasport how it pleaseth him- 

Vil. Why, then I know the extremitie, my 

I must returne to prison whence I came. 

Ch. Returne? I hope thou wilt not; 20 
What bird that hath escapt the fowlers gin, 
Will not beware how shees insnard againe? 
Or, what is he, so senceles and secure, 
That, hailing hardely past a dangerous gulf e, 
Will put him selfe in perill there againe? 25 

Vil. Ah, but it is mine othe, my gratious 


Which I in conscience may not violate, 
Or else a kingdome should not draw me hence. 

Cft. Thine othe? why, that doth bind thee 

to abide: 
Hast thou not sworne obedience to thy Prince? 

Vil In all things that vprightly he com 
mands: 31 
But either to perswade or threaten me, 
Not to performe the couenant of my word, 
Is lawlesse, and I need not to obey. 

Ch. Why, is it lawfull for a man to kill, 35 
And not, to breake a promise with his foe? 

Vil To kill, my Lord, when warre is once 


So that our quarrel be for wrongs receaude, 
No doubt, is lawfully permitted vs: 
But in an othe we must be well aduisd, 40 
How we do sweare, and, when we once haue 


Not to infringe it, though we die therefore: 
Therefore, my Lord, as willing I returne, 
As if I were to flie to paradise. 

Ch. Stay, my Villeirs; thine honorable 
minde d r 

8 of] on conj. C of our] over eonj. Col. 

Deserues to be eternally admirde. 
Thy sute shalbe no longer thus deferd: 
Giue me the paper, He subscribe to it; 
And, wheretof ore I loued thee as Villeirs, 
Heereafter He embrace thee as my selfe. 50 
Stay, and be still in fauour with thy Lord. 
Vil. I humbly thanke your grace; I must 


And send this pasport first vnto the Earle, 

And then I will attend your highnes pleasure. 

Ch. Do so, Villeirs; and Charles, when he 

hath neede, 55 

Be such hio souldiers, howsoeuer he speedel 

[Exit Villeirs. 

Enter King lohn. 
K. lo. Come, Charles, and arme thee; 

Edward is intrapt, 

The Prince of Wales is falne into our hands, 
And we haue compast him; he cannot scape. 
Ch. But will your highnes fight to day? 60 
Jo. What else, my son? hees scarse eight 

thousand strong, 

And we are threescore thousand at the least. 
Ch. I haue a prophecy, my gratious Lord, 
Wherein is written what successe is like 
To happen vs in this outragious warre; 65 
It was deliuered me at Cresses field 
By one that is an aged Hermyt there. 

(Reads') ' When f ethered foul shal make thine 

army tremble, 
And flint stones rise and breake the battell 


Then thinke on him that doth not now dis 
semble; 70 
For that shalbe the haples dreadfull day: 
Yet, in the end, thy foot thou shalt aduanco 
As farre in England as thy foe in Fraunce.' : 

lo. By this it seemes we shalbe fortunate : 
For as it is impossible that stones 75 

Should euer rise and breake the battaile 


Or airie foule make men in armes to quake, 
So is it like, we shall not be subdude: 
Or say this might be true, yet in the end, 
Since he doth promise we shall driue him 

hence 8 o 

And forrage their Countrie as they haue don 


By this reuenge that losse will seeme the lesse. 
But all are fryuolous fancies, toyes, and 

dreames : 

Once we are sure we haue insnard the sonne, 
Catch we the father after how we can. 85 


68 S. D. add. C 




The same. The English Camp.} 
Enter Prince Edward, Audley, and ethers. 
Pr. Audley, the armes of death embrace vs 


And comfort haue we none, saue that to die 
We pay sower earnest for a sweeter life. 
At Cressey field our Clouds of Warlike smoke 
Chokt vp those French mouths & disseuered 

them: 5 

But now their multitudes of millions hide, 
Masking as twere, the beautious burning 


Leauing no hope to vs, but sullen darke 
And eielesse terror of all ending night. 
An. This suddaine, mightie, and expedient 

head 10 

That they haue made, faire Prince, is wonder - 


Before vs in the vallie lies the king, 
Vantagd with all that heauen and earth can 


His partie stronger battaild then our whole: 
His sonne, the brauing Duke of Normandie, 1 5 
Hath trimd the Mountaine on our right hand 


In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill 
Shewes like a siluer quarrie or an orbe, 
Aloft the which the Banners, bannarets, 
And new replenish! pendants cuff the aire 20 
And beat the windes, that for their gaudinesse 
Struggles to kisse them: on our left hand lies 
Phillip, the younger issue of the king, 
Coting the other hill in such arraie, 
That all his guilded vpright pikes do seeme 25 
Streight trees of gold, the pendants leaues; 
And their deuice of Antique heraldry, 
Quartred in collours, seeming sundry fruits, 
Makes it the Orchard of the Hesperides: 29 
Behinde vs too the hill doth beare his height, 
For like a half e Moone, opening but one way, 
It rounds vs in; there at our backs are lodgd 
The f atall Crosbowes, and the battaile there 
Is gouernd by the rough Chattillion. 34 

Then thus it stands: the valleie for our flight 
The king binds in; the hils on either hand 
Are proudly royalized by his sonnes; 
And on the Hill behind stands certaine death 
In pay and seruice with Chattillion. 

Pr. Deathes name is much more mightie 

then his deeds; 40 

Thy parcelling this power hath made it more. 
As many sands as these my hands can hold, 

Scene IV. dc. add. C 3 To pay C 5 moths 
I> 26 pendants WP : pendant Qq : pendant 

streamers C 28 sundy Q 1 30 two Qq 

Are but my handful of so many sands; 
Then, all the world, and call it but a power, 
Basely tane vp, and quickly throwne away : 4 5 
But if I stand to count them sand by sand, 
The number would confound my memorie, 
And make a thousand millions of a taske, 
Which briefeb'e is no more, indeed, then one. 
These quarters, squadrons, and these rege- 

ments, 50 

Before, behinde vs, and on either hand, 
Are but a power. When we name a man, 
His hand, his foote, his head hath seuerall 


And being al but one selfe instant strength, 
Why, all this many, Audely, is but one, 55 
And we can call it all but one mans strength. 
He that hath farre to goe, tels it by miles; 
If he should tell the steps, it kills his hart: 
The drops are infinite, that make a floud, 59 
And yet, thou knowest, we call it but a Raine. 
There is but one Fraunce, one king of Fraunce, 
That Fraunce hath no more kings; and that 

same king 

Hath but the puissant legion of one king, 
And we haue one: then apprehend no ods, 
For one to one is faire equalitie. 65 

Enter an Herald from king lohn. 
Pr. What tidings, messenger? be playne 

and briefe. 
He. The king of Fraunce, my soueraigne 

Lord and master, 

Greets by me his fo, the Prince of Wals: 
If thou call forth a hundred men of name, 
Of Lords, Knights, Squires, and English gen 
tlemen, 70 
And with thy selfe and those kneele at his f eete, 
He straight will fold his bloody collours vp, 
And ransome shall redeeme Hues forfeited; 
If not, this day shall drinke more English blood, 
Then ere was buried in our Bryttish earth. 75 
What is the answere to his profered mercy? 
Pr. This heauen, that couers Fraunce, con 

taines the mercy 

That drawes from me submissiue orizons; 
That such base breath should vanish from my 


To vrge the plea of mercie to a man, 80 

The Lord forbid 1 Returne, and tell the king, 
My tongue is made of steele, and it shall beg 
My mercie on his coward burgonet; 
Tell him, my colours are as red as his, 
My men as bold, our English armes as strong: 

45 Is easily C 50 quarter'd squadrons C Cl 
and one king C C3 Greets thus C : Greeteth Col. 
70 Squires 2 : Esquires 01 75 our Qq : your 
conj.Col. 8lthe]tBy {> 



Returne him my defiance in his face. 86 

He. I go. (Exit.) 

Enter another (Herald). 
Pr. What newes with thee? 

He. The Duke of Normandie, my Lord & 


Pittying thy youth is so ingirt with perill, 
By me hath sent a nimble ioynted iennet, 90 
As swift as euer yet thou didst bestride, 
And there withall he counsels thee to flie; 
Els death himself hath sworne that thou shalt 

P. Back with the beast vnto the beast that 

sent him I 

Tell him I cannot sit a cowards horse; 95 

Bid him to daie bestride the iade himselfe, 
For I will staine my horse quite ore with bloud, 
And double guild my spurs, but I will catch 

So tell the carping boy, and get thee gone. 

(Exit Her.} 

Enter another (Herald). 
He. Edward of Wales, Phillip, the second 

sonne 100 

To the most mightie Christian king of France, 
Seeing thy bodies lining date expird, 
All full of charitie and Christian loue, 
Commends this booke, full fraught with 


To thy faire hand and for thy houre of lyfe 
In treats thee that thou meditate therein, 106 
And arme thy soule for hir long iourney 


Thus haue I done his bidding, and returns. 
Pr. Herald of Phillip, greet thy Lord from 


All good that he can send, I can receiue; no 
But thinkst thou not, the vnaduised boy 
Hath wrongd himselfe in thus far tendering 


Happily he cannot praie without the booke 
I thinke him no diuine extemporall , 
Then render backe this common place of 

prayer, n S 

To do himselfe good in aduersitie; 
Besides he knows not my sinnes qualitie, 
And therefore knowes no praiers for my auaile; 
Ere night his praier may be to praie to God, 
To put it in my heart to heare his praier. 1 20 
So tell the courtly wanton, and be gone. 
He- I go. (Exit.} 

87 S. D. Exit add. QS Herald add. C 99 ca- 

prmg Ql S. D. Bracketed words add. C 104 with 

holy prayers C 112 thus] this 1 122 S D 

add. QS 

Pr. How confident their strength and num - 

ber makes them! 
Now, Audley, sound those sillier winges of 


And let those milke white messengers of time 
Shew thy times learning in this dangerous 

time. 126 

Thy self e art bruis'd and bit with many broiles, 
And stratagems forepast with yron pens 
Are texted in thine honorable face; 
Thou art a married man in this distresse, 1 30 
But danger wooes me as a blushing maide: 
Teach me an answere to this perillous time. 
And. To die is all as common as to Hue: 
The one inch -wise, the other holds in chase; 
For, from the instant we begin to Hue, 135 
We do pursue and hunt the time to die: 
First bud we, then we blow, and after seed, 
Then, presently, we fall; and, as a shade 
Followes the bodie, so we follow death. 
If, then, we hunt for death, why do we f eare it? 
If we feare it, -why do we follow it? 141 

If we do feare, how can we shun it? 
If we do feare, with feare we do but aide 
The thing we feare to seize on vs the sooner: 
If wee feare not, then no resolued proffer 145 
Can ouerthrow the limit of our fate; 
For, whether ripe or rotten, drop we shall, 
As we do drawe the lotterie of our doome. 
Pri. Ah, good olde man, a thousand thou 
sand armors 
These wordes of thine haue buckled on my 

backe: 150 

Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of lyfe, 
To seeke the thing it fearesl and how disgrast 
The imperiall victorie of murdring death, 
Since all the Hues his conquering arrowea 

Seeke him, and he not them, to shame his 

glorie! 155 

I will not giue a pennie for a lyfe, 
Nor half e a half epenie to shun grim death, 
Since for to Hue is but to seeke to die, 
And dying but beginning of new lyfe. 
Let come the houre when he that rules it will I 
To Hue or die I hold indifferent. [Exeunt. 


The same. The French Camp.} 
Enter king lohn and Charles. 
loh. A sodaine darknes hath defast the 

The windes are crept into their caues for feare, 

124 winges] strings D 127 bruis'd C : busie Qq 
129 texed QS 134 inch-wise pr. <d.: in choice Qq, 
etc. 142 om. C Scene V. etc. add. C 



The leaues moue not, the world is husht and 

The birds cease singing, and the wandring 


Murmure no wonted greeting to their shores; 
Silence attends some wonder and expecteth 6 
That heauen should pronounce some pro- 

Where, or from whome, proceeds this silence, 


Ch. Our men, with open mouthes and star 
ing eyes, 

Looke on each other, as they did attend 10 
Each others wordes, and yet no creature 

A tongue-tied feare hath made a midnight 

And speeches sleepe through all the waking 

loh. But now the pompeous Sunne, in all 

his pride, , 

Lookt through his golden coach vpon the 

worlde, i s 

And, on a sodaine, hatjj he hid himselfe, 
That now the vnder earth, is as a graue, 
Darke, deadly, silent, ancf wncomfortable. 

[A clamor of rauens. 
Harke, what a deadly outcrie do tlieart- '.' 
Ch. Here comes my brother Phiftin^. 
loh. All dismauh 20 

(Enter Philip.) 
What fearefull words are those thy lookes 


Ph. A flight, a flight! 
loh. Coward, what flight? thou liest, there 

needs no flight. 

Ph. A flight. 24 

Kin. Awake thy crauen powers, and tell on 
The substance of that verie feare in deed, 
Which is so gastly printed in thy face: 
What is the matter? 

Ph. A flight of vgly rauens 

Do croke and houer ore our souldiers heads, 
And keepe in triangles and cornerd squares, 30 
Right as our forces are imbatteled; 
With their approach there came this sodain 


Which now hath hid the airie floor of heauen 
And made at noone a night vnnaturall 
Vpon the quaking and dismaied world: 35 
In briefe, our souldiers haue let fall their 

And stand like metamorphosd images, 

3 wood coin. C 20, 21 All . . presage one Ihif 1 
S. D. add. C 22. 24, 28 P-(fx Pr. 1 33 floor 
C : flower Qq 

Bloudlesse and pale, one gazing on another. 

Io. I, now I call to mind the prophesie, 
But I must giue no enterance to a feare. 40 
Returne, and hart en vp these yeelding soules: 
Tell them, the rauens, seeing them in armes, 
So many faire against a famisht few, 
Come but to dine vpon their handie worke 
And praie vpon the carrion that they kill: 45 
For when we see a horse laid downe to die, 
Although (he be) not dead, the rauenous birds 
Sit watching the departure of his life; 
Euen so these rauens for the carcases 
Of those poore English, that are markt to die, 
Houer about, and, if they crie to vs, 51 

Tis but for meate that we must kill for them. 
Awaie, and comfort vp my souldiers, 
And sound the trumpets, and at once dispatch 
This litle busines of a silly fraude. [Exit Ph. 

Another noise. Salisbury brought in by 
a French Captains. 

Cap. Behold, my liege, this knight and 
fortie mo, 56 

Of whom the better part are slaine and fled, 
With all indeuor sought to breake our rankes, 
And make their waie to the incompast prince: 
Dispose of him as please your maiestie. 60 

Io. Qo, & the next bough, souldier, that 

thou seest, 

Disgrace it with his bodie presently; 
For I doo hold a tree in France too good 
To be the gallowes of an English theefe. 

Sa. My Lord of Normandie, I haue your 

passe 65 

And warrant for my safetie through this land. 

Ch. Villiers procurd it for thee, did he not? 

Sal. He did. 

Ch. And it is currant; thou shalt freely 

K. Io. I, freely to the gallows to be hangd, 
Without deniall or impediment. 71 

Awaie with him I 

Charles. I hope your highnes will not so 

disgrace me, 

And dash the vertue of my seale at armes: 
He hath my neuer broken name to shew, 75 
Carectred with this princely hande of mine; 
And rather let me leaue to be a prince 
Than break the stable verdict of a prince: 
I doo beseech you, let him passe in quiet. 

Ki. Thou and thy word lie both in my com - 

mand; So 

What canst thou promise that I cannot breake? 

41 those 3, C 47 he be add. C 55 S. J). Exit 
Pr. Q 1 63 Eor Q 1 The rest of the piny is lacking 
in the Bodleian copy of 01 : the text from 64 OH is Ixtsfd 
on the copy in Trin. Coll. Camb. 70 Prefix En : 

Io Q 2 '73 Prefix Charles QS : VU. Q 1 



Which of these twaine is greater infamie, 
To disobey thy father or thy selfe? 
Thy word, nor no mans, may exceed his power; 
Nor that same man doth neuer breake his 
worde, 8 S 

That keepes it to the vtmost of his power. 
The breach of faith dwels in the soules con 

Which if thy selfe without consent doo breake, 
Thou art not charged with the breach of faith 
Go, hang him: for thy lisence lies in mee, 90 
And my constraint stands the excuse for thee. 

Ch. What, am I not a soldier in my word? 
Then, armes, adieu, and let them fight that 


Shall I not giue my girdle from my wast, 
But with a gardion I shall be controld, 95 

To saie I may not giue my things awaie? 
Vpon my soule, had Edward, prince of Wales, 
Ingagde his word, writ downe his noble hand 
For all your knights to passe his fathers land, 
The roiall king, to grace his warlike sonne, 100 
Would not alone safe conduct giue to them, 
But with all bountie feasted them and theirs. 

Kin. Dwelst thou on presidents? Then be 

it sot 
Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art. 

Sa. An Earle in England, though a prisoner 

here, 105 

And those that knowe me, call me Salisburie. 

Kin. Then, Salisburie, say whether thou art 

Sa. To Callice, where my liege, king 
Edward, is. 

Kin. To Callice, Salisburie? Then to 

Callice packe, 

And bid the king prepare a noble graue, 1 1 o 
To put his princely sonne, blacke Edward, in. 
And as thou trauelst westward from this place, 
Some two leagues hence there is a loftie hill, 

Awaie, be gone; the smoake but of our shot 1 25 

Will choake our foes, though bullets hit them 

not. [Exit. 


The same. A Part of the Field of Battle.} 
Allarum. Enter prince Edward and Artoys. 
Art. How fares your grace? are you not 

shot, my Lord? 
Pri. No, deare Artoys; but choakt with 

dust and smoake, 

And stept aside for breath and fresher aire. 
Art. Breath, then, and too it againe: the 

amazed French 

Are quite distract with gazing on the crowes; 
And, were our quiuers full of shafts againe, 6 
Your grace should see a glorious day of this: 
0, for more arrowes, Lord; thats our want. 
Pri. Courage, Artoys 1 a fig for feathered 


When feathered foules doo bandie on our side I 

What need we fight, and sweate, and keepe a 

coile, 1 1 

When railing crowes outs cold e our aduer- 


Vp, vp, Artoys! the ground it selfe is armd 
(With) Fire containing flint; command our 


To hurle awaie their pretie colored Ew, 15 
And to it with stones: awaie, Artoys, awaie I 
My soule doth prophesie we win the daie. 



The same. Another Part of the Field of 


Allarum. Enter king lohn. 
(K. lohn.} Our multitudes are in themseluea 

Dismayed, and distraught; swift starting feare 

Whose top seemes toplesse, for the imbracing ! Hath buzd a cold disma'ie through all our 
skie armie, 

Doth hide his high head in her azure bosome; 
Vpon whose tall top when thy foot attaines, 1 1 6 
Looke backe vpon the humble vale beneath- 
Humble of late, but now made proud with 

And thence behold the wretched prince of 


Hoopt with a bond of yron round about. 1 20 
After which sight, to Callice spurre amaine, 
And saie, the prince was smoothered and not 


And tell the king this is not all his ill; 
For I will greet him, ere he thinkes I will. 

, , !, 2 bounty'd COHJ. Ehe 1 16 Vpon] Unto con!. C 
1 1 1 below C 120 bond Q 1 : band <? 8, etc. 

And euerie pettie disadvantage promptes 
The feare possessed abiect soul to flie. 5 

My selfe, whose spirit is steele to their dull 


What with recalling of the prophesie, 
And that our natiue stones from English armes 
Rebell against vs, finde myselfe attainted 
With strong surprise of weake and yeelding 
feare. 10 

Enter Charles. 

(Charles.} Fly, father, flie! the French do 
kill the French, 


Scene VI. etc. add. C 14 With ndd. C Seen* 
VII. etc. add. WP 1, 11 Pnfix add. Q2 


Some that would stand let driue at some that 


Our drums strike nothing but discouragement, 
Our trumpets sound dishonor and retire; 
The spirit of feare, that feareth nought but 

death, 15 

Cowardly workes confusion on it selfe. 

Enter Phillip. 
(Phil.} Plucke out your eies, and see not 

this daies shame! 
An arme hath beate an armie; one poore 


Hath with a stone foild twentie stout Goliahs; 
Some twentie naked staruelings with small 
flints, 20 

Hath driuen backe a puisant host of men, 
Araid and fenst in all accomplements. 
loh. Mordiu, they quait at vs, and kill vs 


No lesse than fortie thousand wicked elders 
Haue fortie leane slaues this daie stoned to 
death. 25 

Ch. 0, that I were some other countryman ! 
This daie hath set derision on the French, 
And all the world will blurt and scorne at vs. 
Kin. What, is there no hope left? 
Phil. No hope, but death, to burie vp our 
shame. 30 

Ki. Make vp once more with me; the twen- 

tith part 

Of those that Hue, are men inow to quaile 
The feeble handfull on the aduerse part. 
Ch. Then charge againe: if heauen be not 


We cannot loose the daie. 35 

Kin. On, awaie! [Exeunt. 


The same. Another Part of the Field of Battle.} 
Enter Audley, wounded, & rescued by two 


Esq. How fares my Lord? 
And. Euen as a man may do, 

That dines at such a bloudie feast as this. 
Esq. I hope, my Lord, that is no mortall 


Aud. No matter, if it be; the count is cast, 
And, in the worst, ends but a mortall man. 5 
Good friends, conuey me to the princely 

That in the crimson brauerie of my bloud 

21 Haue Q *, tic. 22 ac- 

17 Phil. mid. 

Phil. QS.tlc.: Pr. Q] '"' Scene VIII. 7/f.V/*'. V,7' 
N. t>. squirs <j 1 -. Esquires 

I may become him with saluting him. 
He smile, and tell him, that this open scarre 
Doth end the haruest of his Audleys warre. 10 



The same. The English Camp.} 

Enter prince Edward, king lohn, Charles, and 

all, with Ensignes spred. 

Retreat sounded. 
Pri. Now, lohn in France, & lately lohn of 


Thy bloudie Ensign es are my captiue colours; 
And you, high vanting Charles of Normandie, 
That once to daie sent me a horse to flie, 
Are now the subjects of my clemencie. 5 

Fie, Lords, is it not a shame that English boies, 
Whose early daies are yet not worth a beard, 
Should in the bosome of your kingdome thus, 
One against twentie, beate you vp together? 
Kin. Thy fortune, not thy force, hath con- 
querd vs. 10 

Pri. An argument that heauen aides the 

(Enter Artoys with Phillip.) 
See, see, Artoys doth bring with him along 
The late good counsell giuer to my soule. 
Welcome, Artoys; and welcome, Phillip, to: 
Who now of you or I haue need to praie? 1 5 
Now is the prouerbe verefied in you, 
' Too bright a morning breeds a louring daie.' 

Sound Trumpets. Enter Audley. 
But say, what grym discoragement comes 


Alas, what thousand armed men of Fraunce 
Haue writ that note of death in Audleys 

face? 20 

Speake, thou that wooest death with thy care- 

les smile, 

And lookst so merrily vpon thy graue, 
As if thou wert enamored on thyne end: 
What hungry sword hath so bereaud thy face, 
And lopt a true friend from my louing soule? 
An. Prince, thy sweet bemoning speech 

to me 2 6 

Is as a morneful knell to one dead sicke. 
Pr. Deare Audley, if my tongue ring out 

thy end, 

My armes shalbe thy graue: what may I do 
To win thy life, or to reuenge thy death? 3 
If thou wilt drinke the blood of captyue kings, 
Or that it were restoritiue, command 

Scene IX. WP : Scene VII. V The . . Camp a<M. C 
5 (?) subiect 11 ,v. D. (!<!. C 23 thyne Q 1 : thy 
Q :' 24 hewreathM Co!. 29 thy Q :' : the Q 1 




A Health of kings blood, and He drinke to thee; 
If honor may dispence for thee with death, 
The neuer dying honor of this daie 35 

Share wholie, Audley, to thy selfe, and liue. 
Aud. Victorious Prince, that thou art so, 


A Caesars fame in kings captiuitie 
If I could hold dym death but at a bay, 
Till I did see my liege thy royall father, 40 
My soule should yeeld this Castle of my flesh, 
This mangled tribute, with all willingnes, 
To darkenes, consummation, dust, and 

Pr. Cheerely, bold man, thy soule is all to 


To yeeld her Citie for one little breach; 45 
Should be diuorced from her earthly spouse 
By the soft temper of a French mans sword? 
Lo, to repaire thy life. I giue to thee 
Three thousand Marks a yeere in English land. 
An. I take thy gift, to pay the debts I owe: 
These two poore Esquires redeemd me from the 

French Si , 

With lusty & deer hazzard of their Hues: 
What thou hast giuen me, I giue to them; 
And, as thou louest me, Prince, lay thy con 

To this bequeath in my last testament. 55 
Pr. Renowned Audley, liue, and haue from 

This gift twise doubled to these Esquires and 


But liue or die, what thou hast giuen away 
To these and theirs shall lasting f reedome stay. 
Come, gentlemen, I will see my friend 

bestowed 60 

With in an easie Litter; then wele martch 
Proudly toward Callis, with tryumphant pace, 
Vnto my royall father, and there bring 
The tribut of my wars, faire Fraunce his king. 


(ACT V. 
Picardy. The English Camp before Calais.} 

Enter King Edward, Queen Phillip, Derby, 

Ed. No more, Queene Phillip, pacific your 


Copland, except he can excuse his fault, 
Shall finde displeasure written in our lookes. 
And now vnto this proud resisting towne! 
Souldiers, assault; I will no longer stay, 5 
To be deluded by their false delaies; 

Put all to sword, and make the spoyle your 

Enter sixe Citizens in their Shirts, bare joote, 

with halters about their necks. 
All. Mercy, king Edward, mercie, gratious 

Ki. Contemptuous villaines, call ye now 

for truce? 

Mine eares are stopt against your bootelesse 
cryes: 10 

Sound, drums allarum ; draw threatning 

1. Cit. Ah, noble Prince, take pittie on this 


! And heare vs, mightie king: 
| We claime the promise that your highnes 


The two daies respit is not yet expirde, 15 

And we are come with willingnes to beare 
What tortering dealii or punishment you 

ft) Heath 
D 51, 57 

ttc. add. C 

40 royal C : loyall Qq 
Squires Qq : Squires C, etc. 

46 She'ld 

Act T. 

So that the trembling multitude be saued. 

Ki. My promise? Well, I do confesse as 


But I require the cheefest Citizens 20 

And men of most account that should submit; 
You, peraduenture, are but seruile groomes, 
Or some fellonious robbers on the Sea, 
Whome, apprehended, law would execute, 
Albeit seuerity lay dead in vs: 25 

No, no, ye cannot ouerreach vs thus. 

Two. The Sun, dread Lord, that in the 

western fall 

Beholds vs now low brought through miserie, 
Did in the Orient purple of the morne 
Salute our comming forth, when we were 
knowne; 30 

Or may our portion be with damned fiends. 

Ki. If it be so, then let our couenant stand: 
We take possession of the towne in peace, 
But, for your selues, looke you for no remorse; 
But, as imperiall iustice hath decreed, 35 

Your bodies shalbe dragd about these wals, 
And after f eele the stroake of quartering steele: 
This is your dome; go, souldiers, see it done. 

Qu. Ah, be more milde vnto these yeelding 


It is a glorious thing to stablish peace, 40 

And kings approch the nearest vnto God 
By giuing life and safety vnto men: 
As thou intendest to be king of Fraunce, 
So let her people liue to call thee king; 

1 S. I), preadts Enter King Edward, ttc. Q 1 : corr. 
OS 11 allarum printed as S. 1). lu C, ftc. 12 1. Cit. 
WP : All Qq 20 required coin'. C 31 friendi C 
44 her Ql: thy QS 




For what the sword cuts down or fire hath 
spoyld, 45 

Is held in reputation none of ours. 

KL Although experience teach vs this is 


That peacefull quietnes brings most delight, 
When most of all abuses are controld; 
Tet, insomuch it shalbe knowne that we 50 
As well can master our affections 
As conquer other by the dynt of sword, 
Phillip, preuaile; we ye eld to thy request: 
These men shall Hue to boast of clemencie, 
And, tyrannic, strike terror to thy selfe. 55 
Two. Long Hue your highnesl happy be 

your reigne! 
Ki. Go, get you hence, returne vnto the 


And if this kindnes hath deserud your loue, 
Learne then to reuerence Edward as your 
king. [Ex. (Citizens). 

Now, might we heare of our affaires abroad, 60 
We would, till glomy Winter were ore spent, 
Dispose our men in garrison a while. 
But who comes heere? 

Enter Copland and King Dauid. 
De(r}. Copland, my Lord, and Dauid, King 

of Scots. 

Ki. Is this the proud presumtious Esquire 

of the North, 65 

That would not yeeld his prisoner to my Queen? 

Cop. I am, my liege, a Northen Esquire 


But neither proud nor insolent, I trust. 
Ki. What moude thee, then, to be so 


To contradict our royall Queenes desire? 70 
Co. No wilfull disobedience, mightie Lord, 
But my desert and publike law at armes: 
I tooke the king my selfe in single fight, 
And, like a souldier, would be loath to loose 
The least preheminence that I had won. 75 
And Copland straight vpon your highnes 


Is come to Fraunce, and with a lowly minde 
Doth vale the bonnet of his victory: 
Receiue, dread Lorde, the custome of my 


The wealthie tribute of my laboring hands, 80 
Which should long since haue been surrendred 


Had but your gratious selfe bin there in place. 
Q. But, Copland, thou didst scorne the kings 

r.O Edward Q 2 : Edw. Q 1 <U Sots Q V. 

Esq OS: Squire (' c.T Xoithren 0? Squire C 
7i> at ^ I : of Q ?, ttc. 

Neglecting our commission in his name. 

Cop. His name I reuerence, but his person 
more; 85 

His name shall keepe me in alleagaunce still, 
But to his person I will bend my knee. 

King. I praie thee, Phillip, let displeasure 


This man doth please mee, and I like his words: 
For what is he that will attempt great deeds, 90 
And loose the glory that ensues the same? 
All riuers haue recourse vnto the Sea, 
And Coplands faith relation to his king. 
Kneele, therefore, downe: now rise, king 

Edwards knight; 

And, to maintayne thy state, I freely giue 95 
Fiue hundred marks a yeere to thee and thine. 

Enter Salsbury. 
Welcome, Lord Salisburie: what news from 

Sa. This, mightie king : the Country we haue 


And lohn de Mountford, regent of that place, 
Presents your highnes with this Coronet, 100 
Protesting true allegeaunce to your Grace. 
Ki. We thanke thee for thy seruice, valient 


Challenge our fauour, for we owe it thee. 
Sa. But now, my Lord, as this is ioyful 


So must my voice be tragicall againe, 105 
And I must sing of dolefull accidents. 

Ki. What, haue our men the ouerthrow at 


Or is our sonne beset with too much odds? 
Sa. He was, my Lord: and as my worth- 

lesse selfe 

With f ortie other seruiceable knights, 1 1 o 
Vnder safe conduct of the Dolphins seale, 
Did trauaile that way, finding him distrest, 
A troupe of Launces met vs on the way, 
Surprisd, and brought vs prisoners to the king, 
Who, proud of this, and eager of reuenge, 115 
Commanded straight to cut of all our heads: 
And surely we had died, but that the Duke, 
More full of honor then his angry syre, 
Procurd our quicke deliuerance from thence; 
But, ere we went, ' Salute your king ', quoth 

hee, 1 20 

' Bid him prouide a funerall for his sonne: 
To day our sword shall cut his thred of life; 
And, sooner then he thinkes, wele be with 


To quittance those displeasures he hath done.' 
This said, we past, not daring to reply; 1 25 

00 groat Qq: high C 
John C: Charlts Qq 

S. I), nftrr 97 Q 1 
108 our Qq: my C 




Our harts were dead, our lookes diffusd and 


Wandring, at last we clymd vnto a hill, 
From when 3e, although our grief e were much 


Yet now to see the occasion with our eies 
Did thrice so much increase our heauines : 130 
For there, my Lord, oh, there we did descry 
Downe in a vallie how both armies laie. 
The French had cast their trenches like a 


And euery Barricades open front 134 

Was thicke imbost with brasen ordynaunce; 
Heere stood a battaile of ten thousand horse, 
There twise as many pikes in quadrant wise, 
Here Crosbowes, and deadly wounding darts: 
And in the midst, like to a slender poynt 
Within the compasse of the horison, 1 40 

As twere a rising bubble in the sea, 
A Hasle wand amidst a wood of Pynes, 
Or as a beare fast chaind vnto a stake, 
Stood famous Edward, still expecting when 
Those doggs of Fraunce would fasten on his 

flesh. 1 45 

Anon the death procuring knell begins: 
Off goe the Cannons, that with trembling 

Did shake the very Mountayne where they 


Then sound the Trumpets clangor in the aire, 
The battailes ioyne: and, when we could no 

more 150 

Discerne the difference twixt the friend and fo, 
So intricate the darke confusion was, 
Away we turnd our watrie eies with sighs, 
As blacke as pouder fuming into smoke. 
And thus, I feare, vnhappie haue I told 155 
The most vntimely tale of Edwards fall. 
Qu. Ah me, is this my welcome into 


Is this the comfort that I lookt to haue, 
When I should meete with my belooued sonne? 
Sweete Ned, I would thy mother in the sea 1 60 
Had been preuented of this mortall grief e! 
Ki. Content thee, Phillip; tis not teares will 


To call him backe, if he be taken hence: 
Comfort thy selfe, as I do, gentle Queene, 
With hope of sharpe, vnheard of, dyre 

reuenge. 1 65 

He bids me to prouide his funeral], 
And so I will; but all the Peeres in Fraunce 
Shall mourners be, and weepe out bloody 

Vntill their emptie vaines be drie and sere: 

138 and Qq -. arm'd with C 
149 clangors C 

148 they] we con/. C 


The pi Hers of his hearse shall be his bones; 170 
The mould that couers him, their Citie ashes; 
His knell, the groning cryes of dying men; 
And, in the stead of tapers on his tombe, 
An hundred fiftie towers shall burning blaze, 
While we bewaile our valiant sonnes decease. 

After a flourish, sounded within, enter anherald. 
He. Reioyce, my Lord; ascend the imperial 

throne! 176 

The mightie and redoubted prince of Wales, 
Great seruitor to bloudie Mars in armes, 
The French mans terror, and his countries 


Triumphant rideth like a Romane peere, i So 
And, lowly at his stirop, comes afoot 
King lohn of France, together with his sonne, 
In captiue bonds; whose diadem he brings 
To crowne thee with, and to proclaime thee 

Ki. Away with mourning, Phillip, wipe 

thine eies; 185 

Sound, Trumpets, welcome in Plantaginet! 

Enter Prince Edward, king lohn, Phillip, 

Audley, Artoys. 
Ki. As things long lost, when they are 

found again, 

So doth my sonne reioyce his fathers heart, 
For whom euen now my soule was much per- 


Q. Be this a token to expresse my ioy, 190 

[kisse him. 

For inward passions will not let me speake. 
Pr. My gracious father, here receiue the 

(Presenting him with K. lohrfs crown.} 
This wreath of conquest and reward of warre, 
Got with as mickle perill of our liues, 
As ere was thing of price before this daie ; 195 
Install your highnes in your proper right: 
And, heerewithall, I render to your hands 
These prisoners, chiefe occasion of our strife. 
Kin. So, lohn of France, I see you keepe 

your word; 

You promist to be sooner with our selfe 200 
Then we did thinke for, and tis so in deed: 
But, had you done at first as now you do, 
How many ciuill townes had stoode vntoucht, 
That now are turnd to ragged heaps of stones ! 
How many peoples liues mightst thou haue 
saud, 205 

That are vntimely sunke into their graues ! 

170 his bones (K. John's) Oq : their bones D 171 
city's Col. 174 fiftie] lofty Col, X. D. Priniui .< 

part of preceding speech Q 1 192 S. D. add. D 202 
you . . you Q 1 : ye . . ye Q S 205 might you Q 2 




lo. Edward, recount not things irr euocable ; 
Tell me what ransome thou requirest to haue. 

Kin. Thy ransome, lohn, hereafter shall 

be known: 

But first to England thou must crosse the seas, 
To see what intertainment it affords; 211 

How ere it fals, it cannot be so bad, 
As ours hath bin since we ariude in France. 

I oh. Accursed man! of this I was fortolde, 
But did mis cons ter what the prophet told. 215 

Pri. Now, father, this petition Edward 

To thee, whose grace hath bin his strongest 


That, as thy pleasure chose me for the man 
To be the instrument to shew thy power, 
So thou wilt grant that many princes more, 220 
Bred and brought vp within that little Isle, 
May still be famous for lyke victories! 
And, for my part, the bloudie scars I beare, 
The wearie nights that I haue watcht in field, 
The dangerous conflicts I haue often had, 225 
The fearefull menaces were proffered me, 

The heate and cold and what else might dis 

I wish were now redoubled twentie fold, 
So that hereafter ages, when they reade 
The painfull traffike of my tender youth, 230 
Might thereby be inflamd with such resolue, 
As not the territories of France alone, 
But likewise Spain, Turkic, and what coun 
tries els 

That iustly would prouoke faire Englands ire, 

Might, at their presence, tremble and retire. 235 

Kin. Here, English Lordes, we do pro- 

claime a rest, 

An intercession of our painfull armes: 
Sheath vp your swords, refresh your weary lims, 
Peruse your spoil es; and, after we hauebreathd 
A daie or two within this hauen towne, 240 
God willing, then for England wele be shipt; 
Where, in a happie houre, I trust, we shall 
Ariue, three kings, two princes, and a queene. 

237 An] And 1) intcrceasing Q i", etc. 


Moft pleafant Co 

medic of L/Mucedorus the kings 
Tonne of Patent/a 
the Kings daughter of Ant 
with the mericconccitcs 

Ncwlyfetfoorthjas it hath bin 

fundrit times fkide in the ko- 

nor die CittjtofLwdm. 

Very deleftable and full 
of mirth. 


Printed for Wtlliam /iw^dwel- 

lingat Holbornc conduit,at 

the fignc of the Gunnc. 

Q 1 = Quarto of 1598 

Q 2 - 160G 

Q S , 1610 

Q* = 1611 

Qo -= 1613 

Q 6 = 1615 

Q 7 = 1618 

08 = 1619 

Q '> = 1621 

Q 10 1626 

Qll -- 1631 

Q 11 1634 

Q 18 = 1639 

Qli = 1663 

Q 15 1668 

Q 10 - undated quarto 

Q 17 - Quarto with missing title page 

Col. = Collier, 1824 

T = Tyrrell, 1851 

Has. = Hazlitt's Dodsley 1874-6 

I> = Delius, 1874 

WP m Warnke and Proescholdt, 1878 

Wag. ~ Wagner : textual conjectures in Jahrbuch XI. and XIV. 

Eke = Elze in Jahrbuch XV. and Notes on Eliz. Dramatists. 

pr. ed. = present editor 






Moat sacred Maiestie, whose great desertes 
Thy Subiect England, nay, the World, admires: 
Which Heauen graunt still increase: may 

your Prayse, 
Multiplying with your houres, your Fame 

still rayse; 
Embrace your Counsell ; Loue, with Fayth, 

them guide, 5 

That both, as one, bench by each others side. 
So may your life passe on and runne so euen, 
That your firme zeale plant you a Throne in 


Where smiling Angels shall your guardians 


From blemisht Traytors, stay n" d with Periurie : 
And as the night 's inferiour to the day, 1 1 
So be all earthly Regions to your sway. 
Be as the Sunne to Day, the Day to Night; 
For, from your Beames, Europe shall borrow 

Mirth drowne your boosome, faire Delight 

your minde, 15 

And may our Pastime your Contentment finde 

Exit ] 


Eight persons 1 may easily play it. 

(King Valencia, I for one.}* 
Mucedorus the prince ) ( , 

of Valensia. \ \ Jor 

(Anselmo,l \ for one.} a 
Amadine the Kinges J I . 

daughter of Arragon. )(' 


or one. 


Enter Comedie ioyfull with a garland of 

baies on her head. 
WHY so! thus doe I hope to please: 
Musicke reuiues, and mirth is tollerable, 
Comedie, play thy part and please, 
Mak merry them that corns to ioy with thee: 
loy, then, good gentilles; I hope to make you 
laugh. 5 

Sound foorth Bella nas siluer tuned strings. 
Time fits vs well, the daie and place is ours. 

Enter Enuie, his armes naked, besmearde 
with blond. 

En. Nay, staie, minion, there lies a block. 
What, al on mirth! He interrupt your tale 
And mixe your musicke with a tragick end. 10 

Co. What monstrous vgly hagge is this, 
That dares comtrowle the pleasures of our will ? 

(/</. Q:t 6 as Q3 : at Ifnz. ' Ten 

persons 0:i ' - .\dd. Q:i Induction '<e/</. U7' 

.V. h. ioyfull 01 : ioyl'ully Q3, etc. 8 stay, minion. 

Enuie: Tremelio a Captains: \ ( 
Bremo a wilde man. \ \ 

Comedy, a boy, an ould woman, 
Ariena Amadines maide. 

Gotten a Coanseller, 

for one. 
' I for one. 

A messenger. 

for one. 

Mouse the Clowne. } [ for one. 

Vaunt, churlish curre, besmearde with gorie 


That seemst to check the blossoms of de 

And stifle the sound of sweete Bellonas breath: 

Blush, monster, blush, and post away with 

shame, 1 6 

That seekest disturbance of a goddesse deedes. 

En. Post hence thy selfe, thou counter - 

checking trul; 

I will possesse this habite, spite of thee, 
And gaine the glorie of thy wished porte: 20 
He thunder musicke shall appale the nimphes, 
And make them sheuer their clattering strings: 
Flying for succour to their dankish caues. 
Sound drumes within and crie, 'stab! stab!' 
Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise 
Shall fill the aire with a shrilling sound, 25 
And thunder musicke to the gods aboue: 

15 stifle /: stifle Q: ?: still Qll bearth (^ 17 
(leedcs Q 7-J : name Q6.dc.: lame cotij. M'r/. L'otliy 
Q l-ti :t\usQ8,e/r. :>_' shiner Q :}, etc. 23 dankiaa 
Col.. Klze : dancs Q 1 : Danish Q:i. elf. : darkest mi/. 
in: uL :M a out. Q8, tic. 20 the om. Q 4 




From tragick stuffe to be a pleasant comedie. 
En. Why then, Comedie, send thy actors 
forth 71 

And I will crosse the first steps of their tread: 
Making them feare the verie dart of death. 
Co. And He defend them maugre all thy 

Mars shall himselfe breathe downe 
A peerelesse crowne vpon braue enuies head, 
And raise his chiuall with a lasting fame. 
In this braue musicke Enuie takes delight, 30 
Where I may see them wallow in there blood. 
To spume at armes and legges quite shiuered 

And heare the cries of many thousand slaine. j So, vgly fiend, farewell, till time shall serue, 75 
How likst thou this, my trull? this sport alone | That we^nay meete tpjarle for the best 

for meel 
Co. Vaunt, bloodie curre, nurst vp with 

tygers sapp, . 3S 

That so dost seeke to quaile a womans mmde. 
Comedie is mild, gentle, willing for to please, 
And seekes to gaine the loue of all estates: 
Delighting in mirth, mixt all with louely tales, 
And bringeth things with treble ioy to passe. 40 
Thou, bloodie, Enuious, disdainer of mens ioye, 
Whose name is fraught with bloodie strata - 


Delights in nothing but in spoyle and death, 
Where thou maist trample in their hike warme 

And graspe their hearts within thy cursed 

pawes: 45 

Yet vaile thy mind, reuenge thou not on mee; 
A silly woman begs it at thy hands: 
Giue me the leaue to vtter out my play, 
Forbeare this place, I humblie craue thee: 


And mixe not death amongst pleasing come 
dies, SQ 
That treats naught els but pleasure and delight. 
If any sparke of humaine rests in thee, 
Forbeare, be gon, tender the suite of mee. 

En. Content, Comedie; ile goe spread my 

And scattered blossomes from mine enuious 


Shall proue to monsters, spoiling of their ioyes. 


[(ACT I. 

Vdlentia. The Court.} 

Sound. Enter Mucedorus and Anselmo 

his friend. 

Muced. Anselmo. 

Ansel. My Lord and friend. 

Muc. True, my Anselmo, both thy Lord 

and friend 
Whose deare affections boosome with my 


And keepe their domination in one orbe. 5 
Ans. Whence neare disloyaltie shall roote 

it foorth, 

But fayth plant firmer in your choyse respect. 
Mnc. Much blame were mine, if I should 

other deeme, 
! Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow: 

En. Why solwil; forbearance shall be such ! But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say 

As treble death shall crosse thee with de- 
apight, 55 

And make thee mourne where most thou ioiest, 
Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole, 
Whirling thy pleasures with a peale of death, 
And drench thy methodes in a sea of bloud: 
This will I doe, thus shall I beare with thee; 60 
And more to vex thee with a deeper spite, 
I will with threates of bloud begin thy play, 
Fauoring thee with enuie and with hate. 

Co. Then, vglie monster, doe thy woorst, 
I will defend them in despite of thee: 65 

And though thou thinkst with tragick fumes 
To braue my play vnto my deepe disgrace, 
I force it not, I scorne what thou canst doe; 
lie grace it so, thy selfe shall it confesse 

27 breathe] reach conj. Way. 
L'O chiuall Qq : rival conj. War/. 
etc. 46 thou Ql-3 : thee Q4, etc. 58 pfeasures] 

28 crowenc Ql 
34 tis sport Q 8, 

measures Elze. 59 methodes] metres Else, 

though] thought Q 1 
hroue Q8, etc. 


67 braue Q 1 : praue Q 3-6 : 

I must estrange that frendship 
Misconsture not, tis from the Realme, not 

Though Landes part Bodies, Heartes keepe 


Thou knowst that I imparted often haue 
Priuate relations with my royall Sire, 1 5 

Had as concerning beautious Amadine, 
Rich Aragons bright lewell, whose face (some 


That blooming Lillies neuer shone so gay, 
Excelling, not exceld: yet least Report 
Does mangle Veritie, boasting of what is not, 20 
Wing'd with Desire, thither Ile straight repaire, 

71 thy] the 077 : now thy WP 72 tread Q 1 : 

trade Q3, etc. 75 farewell, till Q3. itc. : frcwi-ll. 
tell Q 1 79 to 07 : two 03, etc. their fa : thy /> 
Act. I, fie. 7-77 add, Q 3 S. 7>. Act I, Scene I Art* (.</ 
snnos fl'rxt indicated WP; indications of j>l<tc< (t<>'l. }' 
til. 3 out. 0,5-76 10, 11 One line 03. ttr. 
estrange 3 : enlarge Q 14-16 that] thy Q Hi 

20 Veritie] virtue Co'. 


AIT I, St. Ill 

And be my Fortunes, as my Thoughts are, faire. 
Ans. Will you forsake Valencia, leaue the 


Absent you from the eye of Soueraigntie? 
Do not, sweete Prince, aduenture on that 
taske, 25 

Since danger lurkes each where: be wonne 

from it. 

Mu. Desist disswasion, 
My resolution brookes no batterie; 
Therefore, if thou retaine thy wonted forme, 
Assist what I intend. 30 

.Ans. Your misse will breed a blemish in 

the Court, 

And throw a frostie deaw vpon that Beard, 
Whose front Valencia stoopes to. 

At once a briefe farewell : 
Delay to louers is a second hell. 60 

[Exit Mucedorus. 
Ans. Prosperitie forerunne thee ; Aucward 


Neuer be neighbour to thy wishes venture: 
Content and Fame aduance thee; euer thriue, 
And GJory thy mortalitie suruiue. \Exit. 


A Forest in Arragon.} 

Enter Mouse with a bottle of Hay. 

Mous. horrible, terrible! Was euer poor e 

Gentleman so scard out of his seauen Senses? 

A Beare? nay, sure it cannot be a Beare, but 

Mu. If thou my welfare tender, then no some Diuell in a Beares Doublet: for a Beare 

Let Loues strong Magicke charme thy triuiail 

Wasted as vainely as to gripe the Sunne: 

Augment not then more answers; locke thy 


Vnlesse thy wisedome suite me with disguise, 
According to my purpose. 

Ans. That action craues no counsel!, 40 
Since what you rightly are will more com- 

Then best vsurped shape. 

Mu. Thou still art opposite in disposition: 
A more obscure seruile habillament 
Beseemes this enterprise. 45 

Ans. Then like a Florentine or Mounte- 

Mu. Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy 


My minde is grafted on an humbler stocke. 
Ans. Within my Closet does there hang a 


Though base the weede is ; t'was a Shep- 
heards, 50 

Which I presented in Lord lulios Maske. 
Mu. That, my Anselmo, and none else but 

Maske Mucedorus from the vulgar view! 

could neuer haue had that agilitie to haue 
frighted me. Well, He see my Father hang'd, 
35 j before He serue his Horse any more: Well, 
He carry home my Bottle of Hay, and for once 

That habite suites my minde; fetch me that 


[Exit Anselmo. 

Better then Kinges haue not disdaind that 
state, 55 

And much inferiour, to obtaine their mate. 

Enter Anselmo with a Shepheards coate. 
Let our respect commaund thy secrecie. 

50 shepherd's once Way. 57, 58 One lnu (J :). 


make my Fathers Horse turne Puritan e and 
obserue Fasting dayes, for he gets not a bit. 
But soft! this way she followed me, therefore 
He take the other Path; and because He be 
sure to haue an eye on him, I will take handes 
with some foolish Creditor, and make euery 
step backward. 15 

As he goes backwards the Beare comes in, 
and he tumbles ouer her, and runnes away and 
leaues his bottle of Hay behind him.] 

(SCENE HI. The same.} 
Enter Segasto riming and Amadine after 

him, being persued with a beare. 
Se. Oh fly, Madam, fly or els we are but 

Ama. Help, Segasto, help! help, awet 

Segasto, or els I die. 

(Seg.} Alas, madam, there is no way but flight; 
Then hast and saue your selfe. 

Segasto runnes away. 

Ama. Why then I die; ah helpe me in dis- 
tresse! 5 

Enter Mucedorus like a shepheard with a sworde 

drawne and a beares head in his hande. 
Mu. Stay, Lady, stay, and be no more dis- 


That cruell beast most mercelesse and fell, 
Which hath bereaued thousands of their Hues, 
Affrighted many with his hard pursues, 

Scene II. TVP A Forest, ttr. add. ;-. ed. 13 on 
him Q3-4 : to him Q5-6 : to her Q 8, etc.: on her Col. 
take o:j-S : shake Oil. </<. Scene III. 1V/' 

1 are] art 01 :> ele / 4 S. D. after 2 Qq 8 
AVhichl That <?6 hath Q3, eh: : haue Ql 9 pur 
suits WP 


ACT I, Sc. III. 


Prying from place to place to find his praie, 10 
Prolonging thus his life by others death, 
His carcasse now lies headlesse, void of breth. 
Ama. That fowle deformed monster, is he 

Mu. Assure your selfe thereof, behould his 


Which if it please you, Lady, to accept, 1 5 

With willing heart I yeeld it to your maiestie. 

Ama. Thankes, worthy shepheard, thanks 

a thousand times. 

This gift, assure thy selfe, contents me more 
Then greatest bountie of a mighty prince, 
Although he were the monarch of the world. 
Mu. Most gracious goddesse, more then 

mortal wight, 2I 

Your heauenly hewe of right imports no lesse, 
Most glad am I in that it was my chance 
To vndertake this enterprise in hand, 
Which doth so greatly glad your princely 

minde. *S 

Ama. No goddesse, shepheard, but a mortall 


A mortall wight destressed as thou seest: 
My father heere is king of Arragon. 
I Amadine his only daughter am, 
And after him sole heire vnto the crowne. 30 
Now, where as it is my fathers will 
To mary me vnto Segasto, on(e), 
Whose welth through fathers former vsury 
Is knowen to be no lesse then woonderfull, 
We both of custome oftentimes did vse, 35 
Leauing the court, to walke within the fieldes 
For recreation, especially (in) the spring, 
In that it yelds great e store of rare delights: 
And passing further then our wonted walkes, 
Scarse were entred within these lucklesse 

woods, 40 

But right before vs downe a steepe fall hil 
A monstrous vgly beare did hie him fast, 
To meete vs both. I faint to tell the rest, 
Good shepherd, but suppose the gastly lookes, 
The hiddious feares, the thousant hunderd 

woes, 45 

Which at this instant Amadine susteind. 
Mu. Yet, worthy princes, let thy sorrow 


And let this sight your former ioyes reuiue. 
Ama. Beleeue me, shepheard, so it doth 

no lesse. 
Mu. Long may they last vnto your hearts 

content. 50 

But tell me, Ladie, what is become of him, 

Segasto calld, what is become of him? 
Ama. I knowe not, I; that knowe the powers 

But God graunt this : that sweet Segasto liue. 

Mu. Yet heard harted he in such a case, 
So cowardly to saue himself e by flight: 56 
And leaue so braue a princesse to the spoyle. 
Ama. Well, shephearde, for thy worthy 

valour tried, 

Endangering thy selfe to set me free, 
Vnrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be. 60 
In court thy courage shalbe plainely knowne: 
Throughout the Kingdome will I spread thy 


To thy renowne and neuer dying fame: 
And that thy courage may be better knowne, 
Beare thou the head of this most monstrous 
beast . 65 

In open sight to euerie courtiers viewe: 
So will the king my father thee rewarde. 
Come, lets away, and guard me to the court. 
Mn. With all my heart. 


(SCENE IV. Outskirts of the Forest.} 

Enter Segasto solus. 
Se. When heapes of harmes do houer ouer 


Tis time as then, some say, to looke about, 
And of ensuing harmes to choose the least: 
But hard, yea haplesse, is that wretchesse 


Lucklesse his lot and caytiffe like acourste, 5 
j At whose proceedings fortune euer frownes. 
' My selfe I meane, most subiect vnto thrall, 
For I, the more I seeke to shun the worst, 
The more by proof e I find my selfe accurst: 
Ere whiles assaulted with an vgly beare, 10 
Fayre Amadine in company all alone, 
Forthwith by flight I thought to saue my 


Leauing my Amadine vnto her shift es: 
I For death it was for to resist the beare, 
! And death no lesse of Amadines harmes to 
heare. i s 

Accursed I in lingring life thus long! 
| In liuing thus, each minute of an hower 
Doth pierce my hart with dartes of thousand 


If she by flight her fury doe escape, 
What will she thinke? 20 

Will she not say yea, flatly to my face, 
! Accusing me of meere disloyaltie 

60 Wron;/!.'/ bracketed. 

.)_>/ rf.v Scgasto 0-, On Q /-., : One QV.f. 37 55 heard Q I : hard 0.9. etc. 60 TWo;i</// braclutct 
csecialyy/ in ,/</.//> .specially in spring UT I,,, Hn>. Scene IV. WP 3 of 05, . : so <? 7-4 
,'J farther H<>.;. 40 entred were <):}, e'c. 45 , 4 ()Hff. 11 Favre ft : AVitli MV 17 

liuing Q a, e'c. : leciiing Q 1 W her] his Col. 



ACT I, Sc. IV. 

A trustie friend is tride (in) time of neede, 

But I, when she in danger was of death 

And needed me, and cried, Segasto, helpe: 25 

I turned my backe and quickly ran away. 

Vn worthy I to beare this vital! breath I 

But what! what needes these plaintes? 

If Amadine do liue, then happie I; 

Shee will in time forgiue and so forget: 30 

Amadine is merciful!, not Inno like, 

In harmful hart to harbor hatred long. 

Enltr Mouse, the Clowne, running, crying : 

Mouse. Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, billes! 
helpe! a beare, a beare, a beare! 

Se. Still beares, and nothing else but beares. 
Tell me, sirra, wher she is. 36 

Clo. sir, she is runne downe the woods: 
I see her white head and her white belly. 

Se. Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of 
white bears. But, sirra, didst thou euer see 
any such? 41 

Clo. No, faith, I neuer sawe any such, but 
I remember my fathers woordes: bee bad 
mee take heede I was not caught with a white 
beare. 45 

Se. A lamentable tale, no dout. 

Clo. I tell you what, sir, as I was going 
a fielde to serue my fathers greate horse, & 
caried a bottle of hay vpon my head now doe 
you see, sir I, fast hudwinckt, that I could see 
nothing, perceiuing the beare comming, I 
threw my hay into the hedge and ran away. 

Se. What, from nothing? S3 

Clo. I warrant you, yes, I saw something, 
for there was two loade of thornea besides my 
bottle of hay, and that made three. 

Se. But tell me, sirra, the beare that thou 

didst see, 
Did she not beare a bucket on her arme? 58 

Clo. Ha, ha, ha! I neuer saw beare goe a 
milking in all my life. But hark you, sir, I 
did not looke so hie as her arme: I saw noth 
ing but her whit head, and her whit belly. 

Se. But tell me, sirra, where doost thou 

Clo. Why, doe you not knowe mee? 65 

Se. Why no, how should I know thee? 

Clo. Why, then, you know no bodie, and 
you knowe not mee. I tell you, sir, I am the 
goodman rats son of the next parish ouer the 
hill. 70 

Se. Goodman rats son: why, whats thy 

Clo. Why, I am very neere kin vnto him. 

Se. I thinke so, but whats thy name? 

Clo. My name? I haue (a) very pretie name ; 
lie tel you what my name is: my name is 

Se. What, plaine Mouse"! 78 

Clo. I, plaine mouse with out either welt or 
garde. But doe you heare, sir, I am but a very 
young mouse, for my taile is scarce growne 
out yet; looke you here els. 

Se. But, I pray thee, who gaue thee that 
name? 84 

Clo. Fayth, sir, I know not that, but if you 
would faine know, aske my fathers greate 
horse, for he hath bin half e a yeare longer with 
my father then I haue. 

Se. This seemes to be a merrie fellow; 
I care not if I take him home with me. 90 
Mirth is a comfort to a troubled minde, 
A merrie man a merrie master makes. 
How saist thou, sirra, wilt thou dwell with 

Clo. Nay, soft, sir, two words to a bargaine: 
praie you, what occupation are you? 95 

Se. No occupation, I liue vpon my landes. 

Clo. Tour lands! away, you are no maister 
for me : why, doe you thinke that I am so mad, 
to go seke my liuing in the lands amongst the 
stones, briars, and bushes, and teare my holy 
day apparel!? not I, by your leaue. 101 

Se. Why, I do not meane thou shalt. 

Clo. How then? 

Se. Why, thou shalt be my man, and waitt 
vpon me at the court. 105 

CZo. Whats that? 

Se. Where the King lies. 

Clo. Whats that same King, a man or 

Se. A man as thou arte. no 

CZo. As I am? harke you, sir ; pray you, 
what kin is he to good man king of our parish, 
the church warden? 

Se. No kin to him ; he is the King of the 
whole land. ' ' 5 

Clo. King of the land! I neuer see him. 

Se. If thou wilt dwel with me, thou shallt 
see him euerie day. 

CZo. Shal I go home againe to be torne in 
peces with beares? no, not I. I wil go home 
& put on a cleane shirt, and then goe drowne 
my selfe. 122 

Se. Thou shallt not need; if thou wilt dwell 
with me, thou shalt want nothing. 

CZo. Shal I not ? then heares my hand; ile 

23 in om. I IS need 8 ff. 35 else r.m. 8 ff 75 a nm. Ql 80 am but Q 1-4 : am Q ~> .ff. 94 two] 
38 see Q I : saw Q .?, etc.. wife head Q 1 49 bottly ; tow $ 7 108 or Q 1 : or a Q 3ff. 116 see Q 1-6 : 
V I 55 two] tow Q I 68 am the Q 1 : am Q 8 \ saw 


w Q 1 
w 98 f. 

ACT I, Sc. IV. 


dwel with you. And harke you, sir, now you 
haue entertained me, I wil tell you what I can 
doe: I can keepe my tongue from picking and 
stealing, and my handes from lying and slaun- 
dering, I warrant you, as wel as euer you had 
man in all your life. ,**? 

Se. Now will I to court with sorrowfull hart, 
rownded with doubts. 
If Amadine doe Hue, then happy I : 
Yea, happie I, if Amadine doe liue. 3S 


(ACT H. 

SCENE I. The Camp of the King of Arragon.) 
Enter the King with a young prince prisoner, 

Amadine, (Tremelio,) with Gotten and 

King. Now, braue Lords, our wars are 

brought to end, 

Our foes (to) the foile, and we in safetie rest : 
It vs behoues to vse such clemencie 
In peace as valour in the warre 
It is as great honor to be bountifull 5 

At home as to be conquerers in the field. 
Therefore, my Lords, the more to my content, 
Your liking, and your countries safegarde, 
We are disposde in marriage for to giue 
Our daughter to Lord Segasto heare, 10 

Who shall succeede the diadem after me, 
And raigne heereafter as I tofore haue done, 
Your sole and lawfull King of Arragon: 
What say you, Lordings, like you of my ad- 

uise? 1 4 

Col. And please your Maiesty, we doe not 

onely alowe of your highnesse pleasure, but 

also vow fathfully in what we may to further 


King. Thankes, good my Lords, if long 

Adrostus liue, 

Hee will at full requite your curtesies. 20 

In recompence of thy late valour done, 
Take vnto thee the Catalonea prince, 
Latelie our prisoner taken in the warres. 
Be thou his keeper, his ransome shallbe 

thine; 25 

Weele thinke of it when leasure shall afforde: 
Meane while, doe vse him well; his father is 

a King. 

Act II. Scene I. WP The Camp, etc. pr. ed. ,S'. />. 
Tremelio add. Q3 1 our Qq : that our Has. 2 
the foile Qq: have had the foil Ha~..: to foil War/ 
4 warres Q ' 3 ft'. :\, 5 End peace, home Qq 6 to 
be om. Qttff. 10 to Q 1 : vnto Q 8 ff. : to the Col. 

14 What Qq : How WP 15 And Q '] : Ant <?.? ff. 
21, 22 One line Qq 23 Catalone aprince Q 1 : t'ata- 
lone, a Prince Q 3 ff. : Catalonian prince Haz. 20 
thinke Ql-8: have Q 11 ff. 

Tre. Thankes to your Maiestie : his vsage 

shalbe such, 

As he therat shall thinke no cause to grutce. 

\Exeunt (Tremelio and Prince). 

King. Then march we on to court, and rest 

our wearied limmes. 31 

But, Gotten, I haue a tale in secret kept for thee: 

When thou shalt heare a watch woord from 

thy king, 

Thinke then some waightie matter is at hand 
That highlie shall concerne our state, 35 

Then, Gotten, looke thou be not farre from me: 
And for thy seruice thou to fore hast done, 
Thy trueth and valour proude in euerie point, 
I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore: 
So guard vs to the courte. 4 

Col. What so my soueraigne doth com- 

maund me doe, 
With willing mind I gladly yeeld consent. 


(SCENE II. The same.} 

Enter Segasto, and the Clowne with weapons 

about him. 

Se. Tel me, sirra, how doe you like your 

Clo. verie wel, verie wel, they keep my 
sides warme. 

Se. They keep the dogs from your shins 
very well, doe they not? 6 

Clo. How, keep the dogs from my shins? I 
would scorne but my shins should keep the 
dogs from them. 

Se. Well, sirra, leauing idle talke, tell me: 
Dost thou know captains Tremelioes chamber? 

Clo. I, verie well; it hath a doore. 12 

Se. I thinke so, for so hath euery chamber. 
But dost thou know the man ? 

Clo. I, forsooth, he hath a nose on his face. 

Se Why so hath euery on(e). 1 6 

Clo. Thats more then I know. 

Se. But doest thou remember the captaine. 
that was heere with the king euen now, that 
brought the yong prince prisoner? 20 

Clo. 0, verie well. 

Se. Go vnto him and bid him come to me. 
Tell him I haue a matter in secret to impart 
to him. 24 

Clo. I wil, master: master.whatshisname? 

Se. Why, captaine Tremelio. 

Clo. 0, the meale man. I knowe him verie 
well. He brings meale euery satturday. But 
harke you, master, must I bid him come to 
you or must you come to him? 30 

S. I). Tremelio, tie. add. Haz. 32 kept 1-6 

fit Q 8, ft". Scene II. D 6 very om. Q8 : very well 
1 OHI. Q 14 8 could Q3 26 Tremelio, man Eht 



ACT II, Sc. II. 

Se. No, sir, he must come to me. 

Clo. Harke you, master, how if he be not 
at home? What shall I doe then? 

Se. Why, then (thou) leaust worde with 
some of his folkes, 35 

Clo. Oh, maister, if there be no bodie within, 
I will leaue word with his dog, 

Se. Why, can his dog speake? 

Clo. I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep 
his chamber els? 4 

Se. To keepe out such knaues as thou art. 

Clo. Nay, be ladie, then go your self e. 

Se. You will go, sir, wil ye not? 

Clo. Yes, marrie, will I, tis come to my 


And a be not within, He bring his chamber to 
you. 43 

Se. What, wilt thou plucke down the Kings 

Clo. Nay, be ladie, ile knowe the price of it 
first. Master, it is such a hard name, I haue 
forgotten it againe. I praie you, tell me his 
name, 5' 

Se. I tell thee, captaine Tremelio. 

Clo. Oh, captaine treble knaue, captaine 
treble knaue. 

Enter Tremelio. 

Tre. How now, sirra, doost thou call mee? 

Clo. You must come to my maister, captain 
treble knaue. 57 

Tre. My Lord Segasto, did you send for 

Se. I did, Tremelio. Sirra, about your busi- 

Clo. I, marry: whats that, can you tell? 

Se. No, not well. 63 

Clo. Marrie, then, I can: straight to the 
kitchen dresser, to lohn the cooke, and get me 
a good peece of beefe and brewis, and then to 
the buttery hatch to Thomas the butler for 
a iacke of beare, and there for an houre ile so 
be labour my selfe! therefore, I pray you, cal 
me not till you thinke I haue done, I pray 
you, good mayster. 71 

Se. Well, sir, away. (Exit Mouse.} 

Tremelio, this it is: thou knowest the valour of 
Segasto spred through all the kingdome of 
Arragon, and such as hath found triumph and 

31 sir Q 1 : sirra 0.9, (tc. 32 how om. Q8 34 
tliou add. p>: id. leaust 1 : leaue Q 3, etc. 30 

Oh Qq : How Has. 42, 48 by Lady QSff.: by'r 

Lady Hn-.. 43 ye Q 1 : YOU Q 3, (tc. 48 Nay 

1-0 : No OS 52 Tremelio. knave Elzc CO and 
therefore OS, f/f. 72 S'. /.'. add. Huz. 73-8 

Verse Qq, die. Segasto, Arragon, fauours, shepherd, 
worthynesse, a side. The speech may hare bttn irrittai 
in terse, but, if .10, is hopelessly corrupt, i'f. II. 97-107, 

fauours, neuer daunted at any tyme; but now 
a shepherd (is) admired at in court for worthy 
nesse, and Segastoes honour layd a side. My 
wil, therefore, is this, that thou dost find som 
meanes to worke the shepheardes death. I 
know thy strength sufficient to performe my 
desire, & thy loue no other wise then to reuenge 
my iniuries. 83 

Tre. It is not the frownes of a shepheard 
that Tremelio feares. Therefore, account it 
accomplished, what I take in hand. 

Se. Thankes, good Tremelio, and assure thy 
selfe, 87 

What I promise that will I performe. 

Tre. Thankes, my good Lord, and in good 

time see where 

He commeth: stand by a while, and you shall 
see 90 

Me put in practise your intended driftes. 
Haue at thee, swaine, if that I hit thee right, 

Enter Mucedorns, 
Mu. Vild coward, so without cause to strike 

a man. 
Turne, coward, turne; now strike and doe thy 


Mucedorus killeth him, 
Se. Hould, shepheard, hould; spare him, 

kill him not! 95 

Accursed villaine, tell me, what hast thou 


Ah, Tremelio, trustie Tremelio! 
I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou, 
Liuing, didst prooue faithfull to Segasto, 
So Segasto now, liuing, shall honour e 100 
The dead corpes of Trem(e}lio with reuenge. 
Bloudthirsty villaine, 
Borne and bredde to mercilesse murther, 
Tell me, how durst thou be so bold as once 
To lay thy hands vpon the least of mine? 105 
Assure thy selfe, 

Thou shalt be vsd according to the law. 
Mu. Segasto, cease, these threats are need* 


Accuse not me of murther, that haue done 
Nothing but in mine owne defence. no 

Se. Nay, shepheard, reason not with me. 
lie manifest thy fact vnto the King, 
Whose doome will be thy death, as thou 

What hoe, Mouse, come away I 114 

77 is add. H*. utom.QS/. 89-91 Lit. 

time, while Qq : con: Haz. 91 mtented Q 1 drift 
Q3 ff. 9 1-107 Lines oid death, to, dead, reuenge, 
murther, bold, mine, law, Qq : corr. pr. (d. lOii 
Bloudthristy Ql 109 Ends nothing Qq 


ACT II, Sc. II. 


(Enter Mouse.} 

Clo. Why how now, whats the matter? 
I thougt you would be calling beforelhad done. 
Se. Come, helpe; away with my friend. 
Clo. Why, is he drunke? cannot he stand on 

his feet? 

Se. No, he is not drunke, he is slame. 1 20 

Clo. Flaine? no, by Ladie, he is not flaine. 

Se. Hees kild, I tell thee. 

Clo. What, doe you vse to kil your friends? 
I will serue you no longer. 

Se. I tell thee, the shepheard kild him. 125 

Clo. 0, did a so? but, master, I will haue al 
his apparel if I carry him away. 

Se. Why, so thou shalt. 

Clo. Come, then, I will healpe; mas, master, 
I thinke his mother song looby to him, he is so 
heauie. [Exeunt (Segasto and Mouse}. 

Mu. Behold the fickle state of man, alwaies 
mutable, '32 

Neuer at one. Somtimes we feed on fancies 
With the sweete of our desires; somtimes 


We f eele the heat of extreame miserie. 1 35 
Now am I in fauour about the court and coun- 


To morrow those fau ours will turne to frownes: 
To daie I Hue reuenged on my foe, 
To morrow I die, my foe reuenged on me. 


(SCENE III. The Forest.} 
Enter Bremo, a wild man. 
Bre. No passengers this morning? what, 

not one? 

A chance that seldome doth befall. 
What, not one? then lie thou there, 
And rest thyself e til I haue further neede, 
Now, Bremo, sith thy leasure so affords 5 
An endlesse thing. Who knowes not Bremoes 

Who like a king commandes within these 


The beare, the boare, dares not abide my sight, 
But hastes away to saue themselues by night: 
The christall waters in the bubbling brookes, 
When I come by, doth swiftly slide away, 1 1 
And claps themselues in closets vnder bankes, 
Afraide to looke bold Bremo in the face: 
The aged okes at Bremoes breath doe bowe, 

S. D. add. Q 3 121 by Qq : by'r Has. 130 song 
Q 1 : sung 03, etc. S. D. Segasto, etc. (tdd. pr. td. 
132-5 Three lines Qq., die. one, desires, miserie : ran: 
pr. rd. 135 miserie 07 : miseries Q .?. etc. S. I>. 
Exit Q 3, etc. : Exeunt 07 Scene III. WP I pas 
senger Q .9, ttc. 5 sith Q({ : sit Elze 6 endlesse 
Qq : needless EIze : aimless Wat/. 1 commander 

Q l-.'j 9 baste Q 3, (tc. 11 doe Q Off. 

And all things els are still at my commaund. 
Els What would I ? x6 

Rent them in peeces and plucke them from the 


And each waie els I would reuenge my selfe. 
Why who comes heere with whome I dare not 


Who fights with me & doth not die the death? 
Not on(e) : What fauour shewes this sturdie 

sticke to those, 21 

That heere within these woods are combatantes 

with me? 

Why, death, and nothing else but present death. 
With restlesse rage I wander through these 

woods, 24 

No creature heere but feareth Bremoes force, 
Man, woman, child, beast and bird, 
And euery thing that doth approch my sight, 
Are forst to fall if Bremo once but frowne. 
Come, cudgel, come, my partner in my spoiles, 
For heere I see this daie it will not be; 30 
But when it falles that I encounter anie, 
One pat suffiseth for to worke my wil. 
What, comes not one? then lets begon; 
A time will serue when we shal better speed. 


(SCENE IV. Arragon. A Room of State in the 

Enter the King, Segasto, the Shepheard and 

the Clowne, with others. 
King. Shephard, thou hast heard thine 


Murther is laid to thy charge. 
What canst thou say? thou hast deserued death. 
Mu. Dread soueraigne, I must needes con - 


I slewe this captaine in mine owne defence, 5 
Not of any malice, but by chance; 
But mine accuser hath a further meaning. 

Se. Woords will not heere preuaile, 
I seek for iustice, & iustice craues his death. 
King. Shepheard, thine owne confession 
hath condemned thee. 10 

Sirra, take him away, & doe him to execution 

Clo. So hee shall, I warrant him; but doe 

you heare, maister King, he is kin to a monkie, 

his necke is bigger then his head. 1 5 

Se. Com, sirra, away with him, and hang 

him about the middle. 

17 Rent 07: Rend 0.9/'. and on. WP 22 
combataines 01 2G child Qq : child and EIze 

32 suffiezth 05 : suffised Q 1 Scene IV. WP Arra- 
gon, etc. add. T 11 Tito tmts WP, rf/r. away 

straight to execution WP 13 hee Qq : I WP 16 
Com om. Hog, 



ACT III, Sc. I. 

do. Yes, forsooth, I warrant you : come on, 
gir. A, so like a sheepe biter a lookes! 

Enter Amadine and a boie with a beares head. 
Ama. Dread soueraigne and welbeloued 

sire, 20 

On bended knees I craue the life of this 
Condemned shepheard, which heertofore pre- 


The life of thy sometime distressed daughter. 
K. Preserued the life of my somtime dis 
tressed daughter ? 

How can that be? I neuer knew the time 25 
Wh'e rein thou wast distrest; I neuer knew the 


But that I haue maintained thy state, 
As best beseemd the daughter of a king. 
I neuer saw the shepheard vntil now. 
How comes it, then, that he preserud thy life? 
Ama. Once walkeing with Segasto in the 

woods, 31 

Further then our accustomed maner was, 
Right before vs, downe a steepe fal hill, 
A monstrous vgly beare doth hie him fast 
To meete vs both: now whether this bee trewe, 
I referre it to the credit of Segasto. 36 

Se. Most trew, and like your maiestie. 
King. How then? 
Ama. The beare, being eager to obtaine his 


Made forward to vs with an open mouth, 4 
As if he meant to swallow vs both at once; 
The sight whereof did make vs both to dread, 
But speciallie your daughter Amadine, . 
Who, for I saw no succour incident 
But in Segastoes valour, I grew desperate, 45 
And he most cowardlike began to fly 
Left me distrest to be deuourd of him. 
How say you, Segasto, is it not true? 

K. His silence verifies it to be true. What 


Ama. Then I amasde, distressed, all alone, 
Did hie me fast to scape that vglie beare, 51 
But all in vaine, for, why, he reached after me, 
And hardly I did oft escape his pawes, 
Till at the length this shepheard came, 
And brought to me his head. 55 

Come hither boy: loe, heere it is, 
Which I present vnto your maiestie. 

Ki. The slaughter of this beare deserues 

great fame. 
Se. The slaughter of a man deserues greate 


21-3 Front <?</ 21 benden lfn~. kees 7 : knee 
03 ff. 22 which tofore WP r?4 doth Q 1 : did 
QSff. 54-7 Ihr. brought, it is \YF .',0. 57 One 
line Qq : corr. JIa*. 

King. Indeed occasion oftentimes so falles 

out. 60 

Se. Tremelio in the wars, King, pre- 

serued thee. 
Ama. The shepheard in the woods, o king, 

preserued me. 

S. Tremelio fought when many men did yeeld. 
Ama. So would the shepheard, had he bin in 


Clo. So would my maister, had he not run 

away. 65 

Se. Tremelioes force saued thousands from 

the foe. 
Ama. The shepheards force (would) haue 

saued thousands more. 
Clo. Aye, shipstickes, nothing else. 
King. Segasto, cease to accuse the shep 

His woorthynesse deserues a recompence, 70 
All we are bound to doe the shepheard good : 
Shepheard, whereas it was my sentence, thou 

shouldst die, 
So shall my sentence stand, for thou shalt die. 
Se. Thankes to your maiestie. 
King. But soft, Segasto, not for this 
offence. 75 

Long maist thou liue, and when the sisters shal 


To cut in twaine the twisted thread of life, 
Then let him die: for this I set thee free: 
And for thy valour I will honour thee. 

Mu. Thankes to your maiestie. 80 

Kin. Come, daughter, let vs now departe, 

to honour the worthy valour of the shepheard 

with our rewards. [Exeunt. 

Clo. mayster, heare you, you haue made 

a freshe hand now you would be slowe, you ; 

why, what will you doe nowe? you haue lost 

me a good occupation by the meanes. Faith, 

maister, now I cannot hang the shepheard, I 

pray you, let me take the paines to hang you: 

it is but halfe an houres exercise. 90 

Se. You are still in your knauery, but sith 

I cannot haue his life I will procure his banish - 

ment for euer. Come on, sirra. 

Clo. Yes, forsooth, I come. Laugh at him, 
I pray you. [Exeunt. 

(ACT m. 
SCENE I. Grove near the Court.} 

Enter Mucedorus solus. 
Mu. From Amadine and from her fathers 

i ofttimes F.lif 67 haue Q 1. : hath Q 3, tic. : 

would liaue pr. til. thousand Q 1 68 A ye Q3/. 
74 raaistio 1 78 him free I? .9 ff. 85 you would bo 
slowe you O I-G : I thought you would beshrow you 
QSff. 87 this means H-..' Act III. Scene I. WP 


ACT III, Sc. I. 


With gold and siluer and with rich rewardes, 
Flowing from the bankes of golden tresunes, 
More may I boast and say: but I, 
Was neuer shepheard in such dignitie. 5 

Enter the messenger and the elowne. 
Mess. All hayle, worthy shepheard. 
Clo. All rayne, lowsie shepheard. 
Mu. Welcome, my frindes; from whence 

come you? 

Mess. The King and Amadine greetes thee 
well, and after greetings done, bids thee depart 
the court: shepheard, begon. 12 

Clo. Shepheard, take lawe legs; flye away, 

Mu. Whose woordes are these? came 
these from Amadinel 1 6 

Mess. Aye, from Amadine. 

Clo. Aye, from Amladine. 

Mu. Ah, luckelesse fortune, worse then 

Phaetons tale, 
My former blisse is now become my bale. 20 

Clo. What, wilt thou poyson thy selfe? 

Mu. My former heauen is now become my 

Clo. The worst ale house that I euer came 
in, in al my life. 

Mu. What shall I doe? 25 

Clo. Euen goe hang thy selfe halfe an 

Mu. Can Amadine so churelishly com- 


To banish the shepheard from her Fathers 

Mess. What should shepheardes doe in the 
court? 31 

Clo. What should shepherdes doe amongst 
vs? haue we not Lordes inough on vs in the 

Mu. Why, shepheardes are men, and kinges 
are no more. 36 

Mess. Shepheardes are men and maisiers 
ouer their flocke. 

Clo. Thats a lie: who payes them their 
wages then? 40 

M es. Well, you are alwayes interrupting of 
me, but you are best looke to him, least you 
hang for him when he is gone. \Exit. 

The Clowne sings. 

Clo. And you shall hang for companie, 
For leauing me alone. 45 

3 golden Q 1-6 : gold and Q S ff. tresuries Q 1 
treasures Qiiff. X. I), messenger 0.9 : messengers 
Ql 11 greeting Q.I ff. 15 Come Ha*. 20 
blesse Q 1 33 on Qq : o'er H-. 42 were best to 
looke Q 3 ff. 

Shepheard, stand foorth and heare thy sen 
Shepheard, begone within three dayes in payne 


My displeasure: shepheard, begon; shepheard, 
begon ; begon, begon, begon, shepheard, shep 
heard, shepheard. [Exit. 
Mu. And must I goe, and must I needs 
depart? 51 
Te goodly groues, partakers of my songes 
In tyme tofore when fortune did not frowne, 
Powre foorth your plaints and waile a while 
with me ; 54 
And thou bright sunne, my comfort in the cold, 
Hide, hide thy face and leaue me comfortlesse ; 
Ye holsome hearbes, and sweete smelling 


Ye each thing els prolonging life of man, 
Change, change your wonted course, that I, 
Wanting your aide, in woefull sort may die. 60 

Enter Amadine (and Ariena her maid* . 

Ama. Ariena, if any body aske for mee, 
Make some excuse till I returne. 

Art. What and Segasto call? 

Ama. Do thou the like to him; I mean not 
to stay long. (Exit Ariena.} 

Mu. This voyce so sweet my pining spirites 
reuiues. 66 

Ama. Shepheard, wel met; tel me how thou 

Mu. I linger life, yet wish for speedy death. 

Ama. Shepheard, although thy banishment 


Be decreed, and all agaynst my will, 70 

Yet Amadine 

Mu. Ah, Amadine, to heare of banishment 
Is death, I, double death to me, 
But since I must depart, one thing I craue. 

Ama. Say on with all my heart. 75 

Mu. That in absence, either farre or neere, 
You honoor me, as seruant, with your name. 

Ama. Not so. 

Mu. And why? 

Ama. I honour thee, as soueraigne, with 
my heart. 80 

Mu. A shepheard and a soueraigne ? 
nothing like. 

Ama. Yet like enough where there is no 

Mu. Yet great dislike, or els no banishment. 

Ama. Shepheard, it is onely 

46 thy Q 7 : my Q .?, ctr. r>ft End* course Qa S. D. 
and . . maide tuhl. it 1>. WP bt(/infi Scene II. htrr 
C>5 S. />. Exit nflcr 63 Q .?.jf. 69 Kttih be Q 1 

my Q .9, (fr. : thv Q 1 
I with Ql-6: to Off. 

i 84. 85 One line Q- t 

7> in my absence tlT 77 
80 Soueraigne of Q 3. ttc. 




Segasto that procures thy banishment. 85 
Mu. Vnworthy wightes are most in ielosie. 
Ama. Would God they would free the from 

Or likewise bannish mee. 

Mu. Amen, say I, to haue your companie. 
Ama. Well, shepheard, sith thou sufferest 
this for my sake, 90 

With thee in exile also let me Hue 
On this condition, shepheard, thou canst loue. 
Mu. No longer loue, no longer let me Hue! 
Ama. Of lat I loued one indeed, now loue 
I none but onely thee. 95 

Mu. Thankes, worthie princes; I borne like 

Yet smother vp the blast, 
I dare not promise what I may performe. 
Ama. Well, shepheard, harke what I shall 


I will returne vnto my Fathers court, 100 
There for to prouide me of such nescessaries, 
As for our iourney I shall thinke most fit; 
This being done, I will returne to thee. 
Doe thou, therefore, appoint the place where 

we may meete. 

Mu. Downe in the valley where I slue the 

beare: 105 

And there doth grow a faire broade branched 


That ouershades a well; so who comes first 
Let them abid the happie meeting of vs both. 
How like you this? 

Ama. I like it very wel. no 

Mu. Now, if you please, you may appoint 

the time. 
Ama. Full three hours hence, God willing, 

I will returne. 
Mn. The thankes that parts gaue the gre- 

cian queene 

The like doth Mucedorus yeeld. 114 

Ama. Then, Mucedorus, for three howres 

farewell. [Exit. 

Mu. Your departure, ladie, breedes a priuie 

paine. [Exit. 

(SCENE II. The Court.} 
Enter Segasto solus. 

Se. Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy 


Should such a shephard, such a simple swaine 
As he, eclips thy credite famous through 

87, 88 Otic li>n 07-5 : can: QG 88 bainish Q 1 

90, 91 Prnst Q 1 : con: 03 96 burne 03, f/c. 98 
mayn't con). Wnr/. 101 There for Q:i, etc.: There 
fore Q 1 102 our 7 : my Q 3, etc. Scene II] 
Scene III WP 3-5 tin: court, saide Oq 3 As he 

The court? No, ply, Segasto, ply: 

Let it not in Arragon be saide, 5 

A shephard hath Segastoes honour wonne. 

Enter Mouse the clowne calling his maister. 

Clo. What hoe, maister, will you come 

Se. Will you come hither? I pray you, 
whats the matter? 10 

Clo. Why, is it not past aleauen a clock? 

Se. How then, sir? 

Clo. I pray you, com away to dinner. 

Se. I pray you, come hither. 

Clo. Heres such a doe with you! wil you 
neuer come? 16 

Se. I pray you, sir, what newes of the mes 
sage I sente you about? 

Clo. I tell you all the messes be on the 
table alreadie. There wants not so much 
as a messe of mustard halfe an hower 
agoe. 2 2 

Se. Come, sir, your minde is all vpon your 

You haue forgotten what I did bid you doe. 

Clo. Faith, I knowe nothing, but you bad 
me goe to breakefast. 26 

Se. Was that all? 

Clo. Faith, I haue forgotten it; the verie 
sent of the meate hath made me forget it 
quite. 30 

Se. You haue forgotten the arrant I bid 
you doe? 

Clo. What arrant? an arrant knaue, or 
arrant whore? 

Se. Why, thou knaue, did I not bid thee 
banish the shepheard? 36 

Clo. 0, the shephards bastard. 

Se. I tell thee, the shepheardes banishment. 

Clo. I tel you the shepheards bastard shalbe 
wel kept: ile looke to it my self e else; but I pray 
you, come away to dinner. 41 

Se. Then you wil not tell me whether you 
haue banished him or noe? 

Clo. Why, I cannot say banishment, and 
you would giue me a thousand pounds to say 
so. 4 

Se. Why, you horson slaue, haue you for- 
| gotten that I sent you and another to driue 
away the shephard. 

Clo. What an asse are you; heers a sturre 
: indeede: heeres 'message,' 'arrant,' ' banish - 
; ment,' and I cannot tell what. 5^ 

Se. I pray you, sir, shall I know whether 
you haue droue him away? 

4 ply., ply Qq, tic.: ?fye..fye 24 did om. 

Q3 ff. ' 29 made me hath 0/7-6 forgot Q 3-6 
\ 40 else om. 3, etc. 




Clo. Faith, I thinke I haue; and you will 
not beleeue me, aske my stafe. 56 

Se. Why, can thy staffe tell? 

(Clo.} Why, he was with me to. 

Se. Then happie I that haue obtaind my 
will. 6o 

Clo. And happier I, if you would goe to 

Se. Come, sirra, follow me. 

Clo. I warrant you, I will not loose an inch 
of you, now you are going to dinner. I pro 
mise you, I thought seauen yeare before I 
could get him away. 


(SCENE m. The Forest.} 

Enter Amadine sola. 
Ama. God grant my long delaie procures 

no harme 

Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence. 
My Mucedorus surelie staies for me, 
And thinks me ouer long: at length I come 
My present promise to performe. 5 

Ah, what a thing is fir me vnfained loue! 
What is it which true loue dares not tempt? 
My father he may make, but I must match; 
Segasto loues, but Amadine must like, 
Where likes her best; compulsion is a thrall: 
No, no, the heartie choise is all in all, 1 1 

The shephards vertue Amadine esteemes. 
But, what, me thinks myshephard is not come. 

I muse at that, the bower is sure at hande: 
Well here ile rest till Mncedorus come. 15 
Sfiee sits her downe. 

Enter Bremo looking about, hastily laketh 
hould of her. 

Ile teare thy bodie peecemeale ioynt from 


Ama. Ah, now I want my shephards com 
Bre. lie crush thy bones betwixt two oken 

Ama. Hast, shephard, hast, or else them 

comst to lat. 

Bre. Ile sucke the sweetnes from thy marie 

bones. 30 

Amu. Ah spare, ah spare to shed my guilt - 

lesse blood! 
Bre. With this my bat will I beate out thy 

Down, down, I say, prostrate thy selfe vpon 

the ground. 
Ama. Then, Mucedorus, farewel; my hoped 

ioies, farewel. 

Yea, farewell life, and welcome present 
death! 35 

Shee kneeles. 
To thee, O God, I yeeld my dying ghost. 

Bre. Now, Bremo, play thy part. 
How now, what sudden chaunce is this? 
My limmes do tremble and my sinewea 


My vnweakned armes haue lost their former 
force: 40 

Ah Bremo, Bremo, what a foyle hast thou, 
That yet at no time euer wast afraide 
To dare the greatest gods to fight with thee, 

he strikes. 
And now want strength for one downe driuing 


Ah, how my courage failes when I should 
strike: 45 

Some newe come spirit, abiding in my breast, 
Bremo. A hapie pray! now, Bremo, feede on Sayth ' spare her, Bremo, spare her do not 

flesh. kill .' 

Dainties, Bremo, dainties, thy hungry panch to Shall I spare her which neuer spared any? 

I To it, Bremo, to it, say againe. 

Now glut thy greedie guts with luke warme I cannot weeld my weapons in my hand; 50 
bl od j i Me thinkes I should not strik so faire a 

Come, fight with me, I long to see thee dead. one: 

Ama How can she fight that weapons can- I thinke her beawtie hath bewitcht my force 

n Sr 2 i Or else with in me altered natures course. 

Bre. What, canst not fight? then lie thou 

downe and die. 
Ama. What, must I die? 
Bre. What needes these words? I thirst to 

sucke thy bloud. 
Ama. Yet pittie me and let me Hue a while. 

Bre. No pittie I, ile feed vpon thy flesh, 25 

Ay, woman, wilt thou liue in woods with 


Ama. Faine would I liue, yet loth to liue in 
woodes. 55 

Bre. Thou shalt not chuse, it shalbe as I say, 
& therefore, follow me. [Exit. 

f>8 Prefix Clo. riM. Q .? 
it Ha-. Scene III] Scene 

66 thought Qq : thought 
IV \CP 2 tan-ing 1 

26 lie Q 1-fi : And Q S ff. 27 now Qu : how //-. 
28 two] tow Ql 30 Marrow-bones :}, dc. 38 

chance F.h.e ' 40 weakened Col. 44 wants 
47 Stftb OS. ft,:: Shall I 01-6 48 Shall 
etc. : Sayth Q 1-6 49 sav Oq : essay Ha*. 
weapon WP 55-C Proxe # I 

I QV, 


ACT III, Sc. V. 

(SCENE IV. The same.} 
Enter Mucedorus solus. 
Mu. It was my wil an hower a goe and 


As was my promise, for to make returne, 
But other busines hindred my pretence. 
It is a world to see when man appoints, 
And purposelie one certaine thing decrees, 5 
How manie things may hinder his intent. 
What one would wish, the same is farthest off: 
But yet thappoynted time cannot be past, 
Nor hath her presence yet preuented mee. 9 
Well, heere ilestaie, and expect her comming. 
They crie within, 'hould him, staie him, holder 
Mu. Some one or other is pursued, no 


Perhaps some search for me: tis good 
To doubt the worst, therefore ilebegone. [Exit. 

X SCENE V. The same.} 
Crie within 'hold him, hold him.' Enter Mouse 
the Clowne with a pot. 

Clo. Hold him, hold him, hold him! beers 
a stur in deed. Heere came hewe after the 
crier: and I was set close at mother Nips 
house, and there I calde for three pots of ale, 
as tis the manner of vs courtiers. Now, sirra, 
I had taken the maiden head of two of them. 
Now, as I was lifting vp the third to my mouth, 
there came: hold him, hold him! now I coulde 
not tell whome to catch hold on, but I am sure 
I caught one: perchance a maie be in this pot. 
Well, ile see: mas, I cannot see him yet; well, 
ile looke a little further. Mas, he is a little 
slaue, if a be heere. Why, beers no bodie. Al 
this goes well yet: but if the olde trot shoulde 
come for her pot I, marrie, theres the matter, 
but I care not; ile face her out, and cal her 
ould rustle, dustie, mustie, fustie, crustie fire- 
bran, and worse then al that, and so face her 
out of her pot: but softe, heere she comes. 19 
Enter the ould woman. 

Old wo. Come on, you knaue: wheres my 
pot, you knaue? 

Clo. Goe looke your pot; come not to me 

Clo. But say I haue him, and thou darste. 
Olde. Why, thou knaue, thou hast not 
onelie my pot but my drinke vnpaide for. 31 
Clo. You lie like an old I will not say 

Old. Dost thou cal me whore? ile cap thee 
' for my pot. 35 

Clo. Cap me & thou darest, search me whe 
ther I haue it or no. 

Shee searcheth him, and he drinketh ouer her 
head and casts downe the pot; she stumbleth 
at it; then they fal together by the eares; she 
takes her pot and goes out. [Exit. 

Enter Segasto. 

Se. How now, sirra, whats the matter? 

Clo. Oh, flies, maister, flies. 

Se. Flies? where are they? 40 

Clo. Oh heere, maister, all about your face. 

Se. Why, thou liest; I think thou art mad. 

Clo. Why, maister, I haue kild a duncart 
ful at the least. 

Se. Go to, sirra! leauing this idel talke, giue 
eare to me. 46 

Clo. How? giue you one of my eares? not 
& you were ten maisters. 

Se. Why, sir, I bid you giue eare to my 
wordes. 5 

Clo. I tell you I will not be made a curtail 
for no mans pleasure. 

Se. I tell thee, attend what I say: goe thy 
waies straight and reare the whole towne. 

Clo. How? reare the towne? euen goe your 
selfe; it is more then I can doe: why, doe you 
thinke I can reare a towne, that can scarse 
reare a pot of ale to my heade? I should reare 
a towne, should I not ? 59 

Se. Go to the cunstable and make a priuie 
search, for the shephard is runne away with 
the Kings daughter. 

Clo. How? is the shepheard run away with 
the kings daughter? or is the kings daughter 
runne away with the shepheard? 65 

Se. I cannot tell, but they are both gon 

Clo. What a foole is she to runne away 
with the shepheard! why, I thinke I am 



Se. Why, dost thou thinke they will be 

Clo. You lie, and you say it. I your pot ! I ,, ' 9 
know what ile say. r ,' T , ,, 

Old. Why, what wilt thou say? go. ^yg*"^ ^ ^ ^ 

.. nT^T] : rweeV T * ufciVfi rf. ! no place vnsearched for them - [Exit - 

Q3 (f. : ion: HH*. Scene V] Scene VI 1V/' : :C> my for Ql UG sauce <l 1 
tow (J I 17 erustkie ^ / 2 look for your 1W . 08 ^lie is Jim. 


51 not] no Q I 

Aer III, Sc. V. 


Clo. Oh now am I in office; now wil I to K. V. Thou not deceiu'st me? 

that old firbrands house & wil not leaue one I euer thought thee What I find thee now, 

place vnsearched: nay, ile to her ale stand & An vpright, loyall man. But what desire, 

drink as long as I can stand, & when I haue Or young -fed humour Nurst within the braine, 

done, ile let out al the rest, to se if he be not Drew him so priuatly to Aragon? 30 

hid in the barrel. & I find him not there, ile Ans. A forcing Adamant: 

to the cubord; ile not leaue one corner of her Loue, mixt with feare and doubtfull ielousie, 

house vnsearched: y' faith, ye old crust, I wilbe Whether report guilded a worthlesse truncke, 

with you now. [Exit. Or Amadine deserued her high extolment. 

K. V. See our prouision be in readinesse ; 

[(ACT IV. Collect vs followers of the comliest hue 36 

SCENE I. Valentia. The Court.} or our chief e guardions, we will thither wend : 

The christall eye of Heauen shall not thrisc 
Sound Musicke. wincke, 

Enter the King of Valentia, Anselmo, Roderigo, N or the greene Flood sixe times his shoulders 

Lord Borachius, with others. 


King Va. Enough of Musicke, it but ads to ! Till we salute the Aragonian King. 


Delights to vexed spirits are as Dates 
Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy then 


Let mee intreate you to intreat no more. 
Rod. Let your strings sleepe; haue done 
there. 5 

Let the musicke cease. 
Kin. V. Mirth to a soule disturb'd are 

embers turn'd, 

Which sudden gleame with molestation, 
But sooner loose their sight fort; 
Tis Gold bestowd vpon a Ryotor, 


Musicke speake loudly now, the season's apt, 
For former dolours are in pleasure wrapt. 

Exeunt omnes.] 

(SCENE H. The Forest.} 
Enter Mucedorus to disguise hintselfe. 
Mu. Now, Mucedorus, whither wilt thou 


! Home to thy father, to thy natiue soile, 
i Or trie some long abode within these woods? 
Well, I will hence depart and hie me home. 
What, hie me home, said I? that may not be; 

Which not relieues, but murders him: Tis a In Amadine rests my felicitie. 

Giuen to the healthfull, Which infects, not 


How can a Father that hath lost his Sonne, 
A Prince both wise, vertuous, and valiant, 
Take pleasure in the idle actes of Time? 
No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see againe, 15 
All ioy is comfortlesse, all pleasure paine. 

Ans. Your Sonne (my Lord) is well. 

Ki. V. ~ 

Then, Mucedorus, do as thou didst decree: 
Attire thee hermite like within these groues, 
Walke often to the beach and view the well, 
Make settles there and seate thy selfe thereon, 
And when thou feelest thy selfe to be a thirst, 
Then drinke a heartie draught to Amadine. 
No doubt she thinkes on thee, 
And wil one day come pleg thee at this well. 
Come, habit, thou art fit for me: 15 

he disguiseth himselfc: 
No shepheard now, a hermit I must be. 

I pre-thee, speake that thrise. 
Ans. The Prince, your Sonne, is safe. 
K. V. where, Anselmo? surfet me with \ Me thinkes this fits me verie well; 


Ans. In Aragon, my Liege; 
And at his parture, Bound my secrecie, 

20 Now must I learne to beare a walking staffc. 
And exercise some grauitie withall. i ^ 

By his afEectious loue, not to disclose it: 
But care of him, and pittie of your age, 

Enter the Clowne. 
Clo. Heers throw the wods, and throw th- 

Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow'd wods, to looke out a shepheard & a stray 
concealment. 25 { kings daugter: but softe, who haue we heere? 

what art thou? 23 


Act IV, ,Sc. /. 
repeat conj. Col. 

85 y' fayth Q 3, etc. : vc faith J 
ndd. Q3 Act IV, Scene" I. WP 4 to 
5 yourl yon Hnz. 6 are Qq : is Hnz. ' 8 sight (><i : 
light Col. 10, 11 Three lines Oq, (lit. him, health- , 

full. 10 Tis >. Else 18 twice Col. 21 Awd.v 
parture (*/ 22 parture #.9-6' : parting <J 8 ff. 2:3 
affectious QS-11: affections Q IS ff. loue fa: loss 

I am an hermit. 
Clo. An emmet? I neuer saw such (a) big 
emmet in all my life before. 


20-!' Dh. thouslit thee. man. humour Qq : mrr. 
>: eil. L'! the] his (} H ff. :S8 eyes Hnz. Scene 
I. V'P 8 prouces Q 1 14 pledge 8. rtr. 1 a 
Q 1-ti : an Q8/> must I (j :}, itc. 25 a <M. Q 3 



Mn. I tel you, sir, I am an hermit, one that 
leads a solitarie life within these woods. 

Clo. 0, I know the now, thou art hee that 
eates vp al the hips and hawes; we could not 
haue one peece of fat bacon for thee al this 
yeare. 32 

Mu. Thou dost mistake me; but I pray thee, 
tell mee what dost thou seeke in these woods? 

Clo. What doe I seeke? for a stray Kings 
daughter runne away with a shephard. 

Mu. A stray Kings daughter runne away 

with a shephearde. 
Wherefore? canst thou tell? 38 

Clo. Yes, that I can; Us this: my maister and 
Amadine, walking one day abrod, nearer to 
these woods then they were vsed about what 
lean not tell but to warde them comes running 
a greate beare. Now my maister, he plaide 
the man and runne away, & Amadine crying 
after him: now, sir, comes me a shepheard & 
strikes off the beares head. Now whether the 
bear wre dead before or no I cannot tell, for 
bring twentie bears before me and binde their 
hands & feete and ile kil them al: now euer 
since Amadine hath bin in loue with the shep 
heard, and for good wil shees euen runne away 
with the shepheard. 52 

Mu. What manner of man was a? canst 
describe him vnto mee? 

Clo. Scrib him? aye, I warrant you, that I 
can: a was a littel, low, broad, tall, narrow, 
big, wel fauoured fellow, a ierkin of whit 
cloath, and buttons of the same cloath. 

Mu. Thou discribest him wel, but if I 
chaunce to se any such, pray you, wher shal 
I find you, or whats your name? 61 

Clo. My name is called maister mouse, 

Mu. Oh, maister mouse, I pray you what 
office might you beare in the court? 

Clo. Marry, sir, I am a rusher of the stable. 

Mu. 0, vsher of the table. 66 

Clo. Nay, I say rusher and ile prooue mine 
office good; for looke, sir, when any corns from 
vnder the sea or so, and a dog chance to blow 
his nose backewarde, then with a whip I giue 
him the good time of the day, and strawe 
rushes presently: therefore, I am a rusher, a 
hie office, I promise ye. 

Mu. But where shall I find you in the 
Courte? 75 

Clo. Why, where it is best being, either in 
the kitching a eating or in the butterie drink 
ing: but if you come, I will prouide for thee a 

peece of beefe & brewis knockle deepe in fat; 
pray you, take paines, remember maister 
mouse. [Exit. 

Mu. Ay, sir, / warrant / will not forget you. 
Ah, Amadine, what should become of the? 83 
Whither shouldst thou go so long vnknowne? 
With watch and warde eche passage is beset, 
So that she cannot long escape vnknowne. 
Doubtlesse she hath lost her selfe within these 

woods 87 

And wandring too and fro she seekes the well, 
Which yet she cannot finde; therefore will I 

seek her out. [Exit. 

(SCENE in. The same.} 
Enter Bremo and Amadine. 
Bre. Amadine, how like you Bremo & his 


Ama. As like the woods of Bremoes crueltie: 
Though I were dombe and could not answer 

The beastes themselues would with relenting 


Bewaile thy sauage and vnhumaine deedes. 5 
Bre. My loue, why dost thou murmur to 

thy selfe? 

Speake lowder, for thy Bremo heares thee not. 
Ama. My Bremo? no, the shepheard is my 

Bre. Haue I not saued thee from sudden 


Giuing thee leaue to Hue that thou mightst 
loue? j o 

And dost thou whet me on to crueltie? 
Come kisse me, swete, for all my fauours past. 
Am. I may not, Bremo, and therefore par 
don me. 
Bre. See how shee flings away from me; I 

will follow 

And giue a rend to her. Denie my louel 15 
Ah, worme of beautie, I wil chastice the: 
Com, com, prepare thy head vpon the block. 
Ama. Oh, spare me, Bremo, loue should 

limit life, 

Not to be made a murderer of him selfe. 
If thou wilt glut thy louing heart with blood, 
Encounter with the lion or the beare, 21 

And like a wolfe pray not vpon a lambe. 

Bre. Why then dost thou repine at me? 
If thou wilt loue me thou shalt be my queene: 
I will crowne thee with a chaplet made of luie, 
And make the rose and lilly wait on thee: 26 
Ile rend the burley braunches from the oke, 

8=5 the Q I : tlicc Q 3-6 : her Q 8 ff. 86 om. Ha*. 
I'll hee <J4. (><:: her (} I. :i :!4 seeke fa : seek 89 her Q V, etc. : hers <} 1 Hcene III. )YP 14-17 

fin- KI--I :{."> seek for? IV /' 45 and hec strikes IHt. me, her. beautie Q I 14 flings Q l-(i: flies (fHff. 

()3.<t<-. 47 were] where Ql 53 canst tliou WJ J 15 a rend Q 1 : attend QH ff. : attent VI 1 22 like 
Or mine Qq \ my Has, 77 a o>. Q5ff. 1 a] a like Ql 25 complet Q 1-4 Ivy 1> : luorie (ft 




To shadow thee from burning sunne. 

The trees shall spred themselues where thou j 

dost go, 

And as they spread, ile trace along with thee, 
Ama. You may, for who but you? (Aside.) \ 
Bre. Thou shalt bee fed with quailes and 
partridges, . 3 Z 

With blacke birds, larkes, thrushes and night- , 

Thy drinke shall bee goates milke and christal 


Distilled from the fountaines & the clearest 
springs. . 35 1 

And all the dainties that the woods afforde. 
lie freely giue thee to obtaine thy loue. 

Ama. You may, for who but you? (Aside.) i 
Bre. The day ile spend to recreate my loue 
With all the pleasures that I can deuise, 40 ! 
And in the night ile be thy bedfellow, 
And louingly embrace thee in mine armes. 
Ama. One may, so may not you. (Aside.', 
Bre. The satyres & the woodnimphs shal 

attend on the 

And lull thee a sleepe with musickes sounde, 
And in the morning when thou dost awake, 4 6 
The lark shall sing good morne to my queene, 
And whilst he singes, ile kisse my Amadine. 
Ama. You may, for who but you? (Aside.'; 
Br. When thou art vp, the wood lanes 
shalbe strawed 50 

With violets, cowslips, and swete marigolds 
For thee to trampel and to trace vpon, 
And I will teach thee how to kill the deare, 
To chase the hart and how to rowse the roe, 
If thou wilt liue to loue and honour mee, 55 

Enter Mucedorus. 
Bre. Welcome, sir, 
An howre ago I lookt for such a gest. 
Be merrie, wench, weele haue a frollike feast: 
Heeres flesh inough for to suffise vs both. 60 
Staie, sirra, wilt thou fight or dost thou yeel to 


Mu. I want a weapon; how can I fight? 
Bre. Thou wants a weapon? why then thou 

yeelst to die. 

M u. I say not so; I doe not yeeld to die. 
Bre. Thou shalt not choose. I long to see 
thee dead. 65 

Ama. Yet spare him, Bremo, spare him. 
Bre. Away, I say, I will not spare him, 
Mu. Yet giue me leaue to speake. 

31, 38, 43. 40 Aside ml<l. Hm. 47 zood-morrow 

V:<. d>: ~vl trace <fo : tread C,,l. :.0 Aside mid. 
IVV r>7 Welcome! Q I M liow 7 : why. how 
Else 03 why then Qq : then A'/u 

Bre. Thou shalt not speake. 
Ama. Yet giue him leaue to speake for my 
sake. 7 

Bre. Speake on, but be not ouer long. 
Mu. In time of yore, when men like brutish 

Did lead their Hues in loathsom celles and 


And wholy gaue themselues to witlesse will, 
A rude vnruly rout, then man to man 75 

Became a present praie, then might preuailed, 
The weak(e)st went to walles: 
Right was vnknowen, for wrong was all in all. 
As men thus liued in this great outrage, 
Behould one Orpheus came, as poets tell, 80 
And them from rudenes vnto reason brought, 
Who led by reason soone forsooke the woods. 
Insteade of caues they built them castles 


Citties and townes were founded by them then: 
Glad were they, they found such ease, 85 

And in the end they grew to perfect amitie; 
Waying their former wickednesse, 
They tearmd the time wherein they liued then 
A golden age, a goodly golden age. 
Now, Bremo, for so I heare thee called, 90 
If men which liued tofore as thou dost now, 
Wilie in wood, addicted all to spoile, 
Returned were by worthy Orpheus meanes, 
Let me like Orpheus cause thee to returne 
From murder, bloudshed and Hke crueltie. 95 
What, should we fight befor we haue a cause? 
No, lets liue and loue together faithfully, 
lie fight for thee. 

Bre. Fight for me or die: or fight or els thou 


Ama. Hold, Bremo, hold! 100 

Ere Away, I say, thou troublest mee. 
Ama. You promised me to make me your 


Bre. I did, I meane no less. 
Ama. You promised that I should haue my 


Bre. I did, I meane no lesse. 105 

Ama. Then saue this hermits life, for he 

may saue vs both. 

B. At thy request ile spare him, but neuer 
any after him. Say, hermit, what canst thou 

Mu. lie waite on thee, somtime vpon the 
queene. Such seruice shalt thou shortly haue 
as Bremo neuer had. [ Ex'e] unl. 

75 Kudu became Qy 77 wall Hm. 7'J this /. 
n1. : his Q I : their Q3, etc. 82 Reason, soone 

?fi, e/c. : reasonson some Of: Reason, some (/.V 7 
15 they, that they //r. nj Wilie ^ 7 : Wild*- 

f.i ff. : Wildly /Aiar. '.C. eruelties <) <> ft'. 1UJ 

110 the QJ : thy Q3,'iU: 

. ldly//, 

! your out. Q-'i ff. 



ACT V, Sc. I. 

(SCENE IV. The Court.) 
Enter Segasto, the Clowne and Rumbelo. 

He spareth none and none doth him escape. 
Who would continue, -who but onely I, 5 

In such a cruell cutthroates company? 

Se. Come, sirs; what, shall I neuer haue Yet Amadine is there; how can I choose? 
you finde out Amadine and the shepheard? Ah, sillie soule, how often times she sits 

Clo. And I haue bin through the woods, and And sighes, and cals: 'come, shepheard, come, 
through the woods, and could see nothing but Sweete Mucedorus, come and set me free;' 10 
an emet. 5 ; When Mucedorus present standes her by: 

R. Why, I see thousand emets; thou meanest But here she comes. 

a little one? 

Clo. Nay, that emet that I saw was bigger 
then thou art. 9 

R. Bigger then I? what a foole haue you to ; 
your man: I pray you, maister, turne him away. 

Se But dost thou heare? was he not a man? 

Clo. (I) thinke he was, for he saide he did 
lead a saltseller life about the woods. 

Se. Thou wouldest say a solitarie life about 
the woods. 16 

Clo. I thinke it was so, indeed. 

R. I thought what a foole thou art. 

Clo. Thou art a wise man! why, he did 
nothing but sleepe since he went. 20 

Se. But tell me, Mouse, how did he goe? 

Enter Amadine. 
What newes, faire Ladie, as you walke these 

Arna. Ah, hermit, none but bad & such as 

thou knowest. 
Mu. How doe you like your Bremo and his 

woods? 15 

Ama. Not my Bremo nor Bremo his woods. 
Mu. And why not yours? me thinks he 

loues you wel. 
Ama. I like him not, his loue to me is 

nothing worth. 
Mu. Ladie, in this me thinkes you offer 


Clo. In a whit gowne and a whit hat on his To hate the man that euer loues you best. 20 

head, and a staffe in his hande. 

Se. I thought so: it was a hermit that 
walked a solitarie life in the woods. Well, get 
you to dinner, and after neuer leaue seeking 
til you bring some newes of them, or ile hang i 
you both. [Exit. 

Clo. How now, Rombelo? what shall we do 
now? 30 

Ama. Ah hermit, I take no pleasure in his 

Neither yet doth Bremo like me best. 

Mu. Pardon my boldnes, faire ladie: sith 

we both 

May safely talke now out of Bremos sight, 
Vnfould to me, if so you please, the full dis 
course 25 

R. Faith, ile home to dinner, and after- How, when, and why you came into these 

warde to sleep. 

Clo. Why, then, thou wilt be hanged. 
R. Faith, I care not, for I know I shal neuer 


And fell into this blodie butchers hands. 
Ama. Hermit, I wil; 

find them: wel, ile once more abroad, & if I Of late a worthie shepheard I did loue. 
cannot find them, ile neuer come home againe. ! Mu. A shephard, lady? sure a man vnfit 

Clo. I tel thee what, Rombelo, thou shalt go j To match with you. 
in at one end of the wood and I at the other, 
and wee wil meete both together at the midst. 

R. Content! lets awaie to dinner. [Exeunt. 

(ACT V. 

SCENE I. The Forest.) 
Enter Mucedorus solus. 

Mu. Vnknowne to any heere within these 


With bloodie Bremo do I lead my life. 
The monster, he doth murther all he meets, 

Scene IV. Pnrdllttfi Sruie rn>t/iti(fl T 3 And 

fiw. (j S/. a thousand Q .?, dc. tlion . . one add. 
p Cioirn is spetch WP lSIndd.08 14 Salt- 

sellers <?.?. tic. 17 so it was Q 11 ff. 25 Prtfiv 

?\rtnenftd Uforc Well Q 1 3d at Q I : in 03, etc. 
Act \ , Scene I. pr. cd.: Scene V. UY> 

Ama. Hermit, this is true, and when we 


Mu. Stale there, the wild man comes. 
Referre the rest vntill another time. 

Enter Bremo. 

(Bre.) What secret tale is this? what whisper 
ing haue wee heere? 35 
Villaine, I charge the tell thy tale againe. 

Mu. If needes I must, loe, here it is againe: 
When as we both had lost the sight of thee, 
It greeud vs both, but specially thy queene, 
Who in thy absence euer feares the worst, 40 

1 1 present Ha z. : pesent Q 1 : Peasant Q 3 ff. 
S. D. it/If r l:t Q I 14 as oni. \\'P 16 Bremo his 
): id. : his Bremo 0/i : my Bremo's F.lze : Bremo's 
Haz. 18 wroth 01 33 "men 01 :U Defer Way. 
35 Bre. add. Q 3 37 If Q 3, etc. '.IQ1 


ACT V,' St. I. 


Least some mischance befal your royall grace. ! Mu. But tell me, ladie; sith I set you free, 

Shall my swecte Bremo wander through the 


Toile to and fro for to redresse my want, 
Hazard his life; and all to cherishe me? 
I like not this,' quoth she, 45 

And thereupon craude to know of me 
If I coulde teach her handle weapons well. 
My aunswer was I had small skill therein, 
But glad, most mightie king, to learne of thee. 
And this was all. 5 

Bre. Wast so? none can dislike of this. 

He teach 

You both to fight: but first, my queene, begin. 
Here, take this weapon; see how thou canst 

vse it. 
Ama. This is to big, I cannot weeld it in 

my arme. 

Bre. 1st so? weele haue a knotty crabtree 

staffe 55 

For thee. But, sirra, tell me, what saist thou? 

Mu. With all my heart I willing am to 

Bre. Then take my stafe & see how canst 

weeld it. 
Mu. First teach me how to hold it in my 


Bre. Thou houldest it well. 60 

Looke how he doth; thou maist the sooner 

Mu. Next tell me how and when tis best to 

Bre. Tis best to strike when time doth 

Tis best to loose no time. 

Mu. Then now or neuer is my time to 
strike. (Aside.] 

Bre. And when thou strikest, be sure thou 
hit the head. 6 6 

Mu. The head? 
Bre. The verie heade. 
Mu. Then haue at thine! [he striks him 

downe deade.\ So, lie there and die, 
A death no dout acording to desert, 70 

Or else a worse as thou deseruest a worse. 
Ama. It glads my heart this tirants death 

to see. 

Mu. Now, ladie, it remaines in you 
To end the tale you latelie had begunne, 
Being enterrupted by this wicked wight. 75 
You said you loued a shepheard. 

Ama. I, so I doe, and none but only him, 
And will do stil as long as life shall last. 

43 wants Hm. 46 she crav'd Has. 51 Whast 
<? 1 Line ends this Qg 55 Line ends thee Oa 65 
is my Qlf.i it is Q 8 ff. 66 thou hit Q 1 : to hit 
QO, Sff. : to hid Q4 : 'to hide Q5, 6 73-5 Prose Ql 

What course of life do you intend to take? 80 

Ama. I wil disguised wander through the 

Til I haue found him out. 

Mu. How if you find your shephard in 
these woods? 

Ama. Ah, none so happie then as Amadinc. 
He discloseth himselfe. 

Mu. In tract of time a man may alter much; 
Say, Ladie, doe you know your shepheard well? 

Ama. My Mucedorus! hath he set me free? 

(Mu.} Mucedorus he hath set thee free. 

Ama. And liued so long vnknowne to Ama- 

Mu. Ay thats a question where of you may 
not be resolued. 9 1 

You know that I am banisht from the court; 
I know likewise each passage is beset, 
So that we cannot long escape vnknowne: 
There fore my will is this, that we returne 95 
Right through the thickets to the wild mans 


And there a while liue on his prouision, 
Vntil the search and narrow watch be past. 
This is my counsel, and I thinke it best. 

Ama. I thinke the verie same. 100 

Mu. Come, lets begone. 

[(Enter} The Clowne (who} searches and jalsouer 
the wild man and so carry him away. 

Clo. Nay, soft, sir; are you heere? a bots on 
you! I was like to be hanged for not finding 
you. We would borrow a certaine stray kings 
daughter of you: a wench, a wench, sir, we 
would haue. 106 

Mu. A wench of me! ile make the eate my 

Clo. Oh Lord! nay, and you are so lustie, 
lie cal a cooling card for you. Ho, maister, 
maister, come away quicklie. in 

Enter Segasto. 

Se. Whats the matter? 

Cl. Looke, maister, Amadine & the shep 
heard: oh, braue! 114 

Se. What, minion, haue I found you out? 

Clo. Nay, thats a lie, I found her out my self e. 

Se. Thou gadding huswife, 
What cause hadst thou to gad abroade, 
When as thou knowest our wedding day so nie? 

Ama. Not so, Segasto, no such thing in 
hand; 120 

Shew your assurance, then ile answere you. 

84 S. I), discloseth Q 6. etc. : disguiseth Q 7-5 88 
Mu. add. tit: ed. Mucedorus he Q 1 : Muc. He Q ? f. 
101 S. />. Enter, who add. Haz. 



ACT V, St. II. 

Se. Thy fathers promise my assurance is. 
Ama. But what he promist he hath not 


Se. It rests in thee for to per for me the same. 
Ama. Not I. r 25 

Se. And why? 

Ama, So is my will, and therefore euen so. 
Clo. Maister, with a nonie, nonie, noe! 
Se. A, wicked villane, art thou here? 
Mu. What needes these wordes? we way 
them not. 130 

Se. We way them not, proud shepheard! I 

skorne thy companie. 

Clo. Weele not haue a corner of thy com 
Mu. I scorne not thee, nor yet the least of 


Clo. Thats a lie, a would haue kild me with 

his pugsnondo. x 35 

Se. This stoutnesse, Amadine, contents me 

Ama. Then seeke an other that may you 

better please. 

Mu. Well, Amadine, it onelie rests in thee 

Without delay to make thy choice of three: 

There stands Segasto, here a shepheard stands, 

There stands the third; now make thy choise. 

Clo. A Lord at the least I am. 142 

Am. My choise is made, for I will none but 


Se. A worthy mate, no doubt, for such a wife. 
Mu. And, Amadine, why wilt thou none 
but me? 145 

I cannot keepe thee as thy father did; 
I haue no landes for to maintaine thy state. 
Moreouer, if thou meane to be my wife, 
Commonly this must be thy vse: 
To bed at midnight, vp at fowre, 150 

Drudge all daie and trudge from place to place, 
Whereby our dailie vittel for to winne; 
And last of al, which is the worst of all, 
No princes then but plaine a shepheards wife. 
Clo. Then, god ge you god morrow, goody 
shepheard! 155 

Ama. It shall not neede; if Amadine do 

Thou shalt be crowned king of Arragon. 

Clo. Oh, maister, laugh! when bees King, 
then ile be a queene. 

Mu. Then know that which nere tofore was 
known: 160 

I am no shepheard, no Arragonian I, 
But borne of Royall blood my fathers of 

128 nonny, nonnv, no -Haz. : none, none, noe 
I? 1-4 : none, none so Q 5 ff. 129 villant <j 1 134 
with his) with's Q14, 15 140 here . . stands Q 1-ti : 
a. second here Q 6' jf. 151 all the day Wl' 154 
plaine a Q 7-o : a plaine Q 6 ff. 

Valentia King, my mother queene who for 
Thy secret sake tooke this hard task in hand. 
Ama. Ah how I ioy my fortune is so good. 
Se. Well now I see, Segasto shall not speede ; 
But, Mncedorus, I as much do ioy, 167 

To see thee here within our Court of Arragon, 
As if a kingdoms had befalne me. This time 
I with my heart surrender it to thee, 
He giueth her vnto him. 
And loose what right to Amadine I haue. 171 
Clo. What (a) barnes doore, and borne 

where my father 
Was cunstable! a bots on thee, how dost 

Mu. Thanks, Segaslo; but yet you leueld 

at the crowne. 

Clo. Maister, beare this and beare all. 175 
Se. Why so, sir? 
Clo. He saies you take a goose by the 


Se. Go to, sir: away, post you to the king, 
Whose hart is fraught with carefull doubts, 
Glad him vp and tell him these good newes, 
And we will follow as fast as we may. 18 1 
Clo. I goe, maister; I runne, maister. 


(SCENE n. Open Place necr the Court of 

the King of Arragon.} 
Enter the King and Gotten. 
K. Break, heart, and end my paled woes, 
My Amadine, the comfort of my life, 
How can T ioy except she were in sight? 
Her absence breedes sorrow to my soule 
And with a thunder breakes my heart in 
twaine. 5 

Col. Forbeare those passions, gentle King, 
And you shall see twill turne vnto the best, 
And bring your soule to quiet and to ioie. 

K. Such ioie as death, I do assure me that, 
And naught but death, vnlesse of her I heare, 
And that with speede; I cannot sigh thus 
long i x 

But what a tumult doe I heare within? 
The crie within, ' ioie and happinesse ! ' 
Col. I heare a noyse of ouer -passing ioie 
Within the court; my Lord, be of good com 
And heere comes one in hast. 15 

162-3 End Valentia, sake Q 1 : King, sake Q3 ff. : 
ron: in: al. K59 me this 1, tff. 170 it Ql : her 
Q3/. 171 loose Has. : looke Qq 172 a add Haz. 
173 thee Q 1-6 : thou Q 8ff. Ill saiesl sees sees 

Q 1 : sees Q 3-6 : sayes (J 8, etc. Scene II. pr, td.: 
Act V, Scene I. 1VP 3 in my sight Q 14, Jo 4 
breedes OJ-6: breeds great Q 8 ff. : breedeth WP 
t>, 1U Pnjif. Clo. <J I S. I>. The # 7, 8 : They Q 3 ff. 
happinesse] gladness Q14, 15 


ACT V, St. II. 


Enter the Clowne running. 

do. A King 1 a King I a King! 

Col. Why, how now, sirra? whats the 

do. 0, tis newes for a king, 'tis woorth 

K. Why, sirra, thou shalt haue siluer and 

gold if it bee good. 
do. 0, tis good, tis good. 

Amadine 20 

Mu. No shepheard I, but a worthy prince. 
King. In farre conceit, not princelie borne. 
Mu. Yes, princely borne: my father is a 


My mother Queene, and of Valentia both. 
K. What, Mucedorusf welcome to our 


What cause hadst thou to come to me dis- 
guisde? 55 

Mu. No cause to feare; I caused no offence 
But this: 
Desiring thy daughters vertues for to see 

K. Oh, what of her? tell me, & I will make 
thee a knight. 

do. How a spright? no, by ladie, I will not | Disguised my selfe from out my fathers court, 
be a spright. Maisters, get ye away; if I be j Vnknowen to any, in secret I did rest, 60 
a spright, I shall be so leane I shall make you ! And passed many troubles neere to death; 

all afraide. 2 5 

Col. Thou sot, the King meanes to make 

thee a gentleman. 
do. Why, I shall want parrell. 
King. Thou shalt want for nothing. 
Clo. Then stand away, trick vp thy selfe: 

heere they come. 

Enter Segasto, Mucedorus, and Amadine. 
Ama. My gratious father, pardon thy dis 
loyal daughter. 30 
K. What do mine eies be hould? my daugh - 

ter Amadinel 
Rise vp, dere daughter & let these, my embras - 

ing armes, 

Shew some token of thy fathers ioie, 
Which euer since thy departure hath lan 
guished in sorrow. 

Ama. Deare father, neuer were your sorrows 
Greater then my grief es, 36 

Neuer you so desolate as I comfortlesse; 
Yet, neuerthelesse, acknowledging my selfe 
To be the cause of both, on bended knees 
I humblie craue your pardon. 40 

King. He pardon thee, deare daughter: but 

as for him 

Ama. Ah, father, what of him? 
King. As sure as I am a king, and weare 

the crowne, 

I will reuenge on that accursed wretch. 
Mu. Yet, worthy prince, worke not thy will 
in wrath; 45 

Shew fauour. 

K. I, such fauour as thou deseruest. 
Mu. I do deserue the daughter of a king. 
K. Oh, impudent I a shepheard and so 

insolent ! 


23, 2-t sprifdit Q :]#'.: spirit (spin-it) Ql !V> 

ere om. tf* * my o,. (^ /. 33 father Q 1 

t Prefix Mu. Q 1 :t8 acknowledging 01 f.\ know- 
43 a OJH. (? .9, fc. 47 as on*. 1V/' 

50 am 1 #-. but am a Co/. 

So hath your daughter my partaker bin, 
As you shall know heereafter more at large, 
Desiring you, you will giue her to mee, 64 
Euen as mine owne and soueraigne of my life; 
Then shall I thinke my trauels are wel spent. 

King. With all my heart, but this 
Segasto claimes my promise made to fore, 
That he should haue her as his onely wife, 
Before my counsel when we came from war. 
Segasto, may I craue thee let it passe, 71 

And giue Amadine as wife to Mucedorus'! 

Se. With all my heart, were it far a greater 


And what I may to furnish vp there rites 
With pleasing sports and pastimes you shall 
see. 75 

King. Thankes, good Segasto, I will thinke 
of this. 

Mu. Thankes, good my Lord, & while I 

Account of me in what I can or maie. 

Ama. And, good Segasto, these great cur- 

Shall not be forgot. 80 

Clo. Why, harke you, maister: bones, what 
haue you done? What, giuen away the wench 
you made me take such paines for? you are 
wise indeed ! mas, and I had knowne of that 
I would haue had her my selfe! faith, master, 
now wee maie goe to breakefast with a wood- 
coke pie. 8 7 

Se. Goe, sir, you were best leaue this kna- 

K. Come on, my Lordes, lets now to court, 
Where we may finish vp the ioyfullest dale 
That euer hapt to a distressed King, 91 

[Were but thy Father, the Valencia Lord, 
Present in view of this combining knot. 

51 farre Ql: faire ().?, dr. CO are Q 1-0 : all 
Q S ff. 73 far a Q 1 : a far Q 3, (tc. <.V, ft,: <1<1. Q :! 
For flu coiii-liiiliiu/ liiifx tiftln scan in 01 cf. .Inuoidis, 
p. 120 93 combined Q'4 ff. 



A shout within. Enter a Messenger. 

What shout was that? 

Mes. My Lord, the great Valencia King, 
Newly arriued, intreates your presence. 96 

Mu. My Father? 

King A. Prepared welcomes giuehim enter- 


A happier Planet neuer raigned then that, 
Which gouernes at this houre. [Sound. 

Enter the King of Valencia, Anselmo, Rodrigo, 
Borachius, with others; the King runnes 
and imbraces his Sonne, 
King V. Rise, honour of my age, food to 
my rest: 101 

Condemne not (mightie King of Aragon) 
My rude behauiour, so compeld by Nature, 
That manners stood vnknowledged. 

King A. What we haue to recite would 
tedious prooue 105 

By declaration; therefore, in, and feast: 
To morrow the performance shall explaine, 
What Words conceale; till then, Drummes 

speake, Belles ring, 

Giue plausiue welcomes to our brother King. 

Sound Drummes and Trumpets. Exeunt 



Enter Comedie and Enuie. 
Comedie. How now, Enure? what, blushest 

thou all readie? 

Peepe forth, hide not thy head with shame, 
But with a courage praise a womans deeds. 
Thy threates were vaine, thou couldst doe me 

no hurt. 

Although thou seemdst to crosse me with 

despite, 5 

I ouerwhelmde, and turnde vpside downe thy 


And made thy selfe to stumble at the same. 
En. Though stumbled, yet not ouerthrowne. 

(Com. Enuie, spit thy gall; 15 

Plot, worke, contriue; create new fallacies, 
Teame from thy Wombe each minute a blacke 


Whose blood and thoughts haue twins con 

Studie to act deedes yet vnchronicled, 
Cast natiue Monsters in the moldes of Men, 20 
Case vicious Diuels vnder sancted Rochets, 
Vnhaspe the Wicket where all periureds roost, 
And swarme this Ball with treasons: doe thy 

Thou canst not (hel -hound) crosse my steare 

to night, 

Nor blind that glorie, where I wish delight. 25 
Enn. I can, I will. 
Com. Neffarious Hagge, begin, 
And let vs tugge, till one the mastrie winne. 

jBnu. Comedie, thou art a shallow Goose; 
He ouer throw thee in thine owne intent, 30 
And make thy fall my Comick merriment. 

Com. Thy pollicie wants grauitie; thou art 
Too weake. Speake, Fiend, as how? 

Enu. Why, thus: 

From my foule Studie will I hoyst a Wretch, 
A leane and hungry Meager Canniball, 36 
Whose iawes swell to his eyes with chawing 


And him He make a Poet. 
Com. What's that to th' purpose? 
Enu. This scrambling Rauen, with his 

needie Beard, 40 

Will I whet on to write a Comedie, 
Wherein shall be compos'd darke sentences, 
Pleasing to factious braines: 
And euery other where place me a lest, 
Whose high abuse shall more torment then 

blowes: 45 

Then I my selfe (quicker then Lightning) 
Will flie me to a puisant Magistrate, 
And waighting with a Trencher at his backe, 
In midst of iollitie, rehearse those gaules, 
(With some additions) 50 

So lately vented in your Theater. 

Thou canst not draw my heart to mildenesse; i He, vpon this, cannot but make complaint, 

Yet must I needes confesse thou hast don 
well, i o 

And plaide thy part with merth and pleasant 

Saie all this, yet canst thou not conquer mee; 

Although this time thou hast got yot not the 
conquest neither 

A double reuenge another time ile haue. 

08 Prepare a welcome Else, welcomes : giue Q .9 : 
con: <?,S ,V. />. Barcliins Q .9-6: Baracliins Q8-13 : 
BrachiusO/5 104 unacknowledged fW., WP 100 

planshie Qq : pleasant Col. Epilosue WP 5 

seemest 1-8 

To your great danger, or at least restraint. 
Com. Ha, ha, hat I laugh to heare thy 

This is a trap for Boyes, not Men, nor such, 55 

nrfrf. Q .9. For the conclusion of il<( play ' Q 1 
cf. Appendix, n. 12fi 18 twin Ha*. 21 Minted 
Woo. Rochets QS-fi : robes QSff. 22 Unclasp Col. 
wicked WP periureds Q 8-6 : periures Q 8 : penu 
ries Q 9 ff. 31 Comict Q .9 32 Ends weake Qq : 
con: Wf 30 Meager Q5 ff.: Neaper Q3, 4 : negro 
ffaz. 50-1 One line Qq, etc. 51 So lately an m- 
tfri>olatir,n according to Simpson 53 vour Q 8-6 : 
our QSff. 






Especially desertfull in their doinges, 
Whose stay'd discretion rules their purposes 
I and my faction doe eschew those vices. 
But see, seel the weary Sunne for rest 
Hath laine his golden compasse to 


Where he perpetuall bide and euer shine, 
As Dauids of -spring, in his happy Clime. 
Stoope, Enuie, stoope, bow to the Earth with 


Lets begge our Pardons on our bended knee. 

They kneele. 
Enn. My Power has lost her Might; Enuies 

date's expired. 65 

Yon splendant Maiestie hath feld my sting, 
And I amazed am. Fall downs, and quake. 

60 to Qq : in Col. 62 his Qq : this Col. 64 

pardon Q9 ff. 65 and Envy's WP QQom.Q4/. 

Com. Glorious and wise Arch -Caesar on 

this earth, 

> At whose appearance, Enuie's stroken dumbe, 
I And all bad thinges cease operation: 70 

i Vouchsafe to pardon our vnwilling errour, 
So late presented to your Gracious view, 
And weele endeuour with excesse of paine, 
To please your senses in a choyser straine. 
Thus we commit you to the armes of Night, 75 
Whose spangled carkasse would, for your 


Striue to excell the Day; be blessed, then: 
Who other wishes, let him neuer speake. 

Enn. Amen. 7 9 

To Fame and Honour we commend your rest; 
Liue still more happie, euery houre more blest. 

76 carkasse Qq : darkness Col. 


In Ad V, Scene I, and the Epilogue, Q 1 has different endin&s, given below. 

After line 91 of Act V, Scene I. 

With mirth and ioy and greate solemnitie, 
Weele finish vp these hymens rightes most 

Clo. Hoe, Lordes, at the first, I am one to; 
but heare, maister King, by your leaue, a cast: 
now you haue done with them, I praie you 
begin with me. 96 

K. Why, what wouldest thou haue? 

Clo. you forgot! now, a little apparrell to 
makes handsome: what, should Lordes goe so 
beggerlie as I doe? I00 

K. What I did promise thee, I will performe; 
attende on mee. Come, lets depart. 

They all speake. 
Weele waite on you with all our hearts. 

Uo. And with a peece of my liuer to. 

[Exeunt omnes. 

After line 14 of the Epilogue. 
Co. Then, caitife cursed, stoope vpon thy 


Yeelde to a woman, though not to mee, 
And pray we both togither with our hearts, 

That she thrice Nestors yeares may with vs rest, 
And from her foes high God defend her still, 
That they against her may neuer worke thir 

will. 20 

En. Enuie, were he neuer so stoute, 
Would becke and bowe vnto her maiestie. 
Indeede, Comedie, thou hast ouerrunne me 


And forst me stoope vnto a womans swaie. 
! God grant her grace amongest vs long may 

raigne, 25 

And those that would not haue it soe, 
Would that by enuie soone their heartes they 

might forgoe. 

Co. The Counsell, Nobles, and this Realme, 
Lord guide it stil with thy most holy hand; 
The Commons and the subiectes grant them 

grace, 36 

Their prince to serue, her to obey, & treason 

to deface: 

Long maie sheraine, in ioy and greatefelicitie! 
Each Christian heart do saie amen with me. 


20 wooke Q 1 28 Noble Q 1 


The firft part 
i j 

Ut the true and ono 
rable hiftorie, of the life of Sir 
<fobn Old'Caftlejhegood 
Lord Cobham. 

It hath been lately aBedby the right 
honorable the Earle of 3\otingkam 
Lord high <tAdmir all of England his 


Printed by V.S. for Thomas Pauicr, and veto be folde at 
his &op at the figne of the Catte and Parrots 
necre the Exchange. 
I 6 O 0. 

Q 1 -- Anonymous quarto of 1 600 

Q 2 = Quarto bearing Shakespeare's name, 1600 

F 1 = (Third) Shakespeare Folio, 1664 

F3 = (Fourth) 1685 

P. = Rowe, 1709 

M = Malone, 1780 

Th. = Theobald, ibid. 

St. = Steevens, ibid. 

S = Simms, 1848 

T = Tyrrell, 1851 

Hat. = Hazlitt, 1852 

pr. ed. - present editor 



ACT I, Sc. II 

Sher, About religion, as I heard, my Lord. 
Lord Powesse detracted from the power of 


Affirming Wickliffes doctrine to be true, 95 
And Romes erroneous. Hot reply was made 
By the lord Herbert, they were traytors all 
That would maintaine it: Powesse answered, 
They were as true, as noble, and as wise 
As he, that would defend it with their liues; 
He namde for instance sir lohn Old -castle 101 
The Lord Cobham: Herbert replide againe, 
" He, thou, and all are traitors that so hold." 
The lie was giuen, the seuerall factions drawne, 
And so enragde, that we could not appease it 
1. Judge. This case concernes the Kings 

prerogatiue, 106 

And':; dangerous to the State and common 

Gentlemen, Justices, master Maior, and master 


It doth behouc vs all, and each of vs 
In generall and particular, to haue care no 
For the suppressing of all mutinies, 
And all assemblies, except souldiers musters 
For the Kings preparation into France. 
We heare of secret conuenticles made, 
And there is doubt of some conspiracies, 115 
Which may breake out into rebellious armes 
When the King's gone, perchance before he go: 
Note as an instance, this one perillous fray; 
What factions might haue growne on either 


To the destruction of the King andRealme. 1 20 
Yet, in my conscience, sir lohn Old-castle, 
Innocent of it, onely his name was vsde. 
We, therefore, from his Highnesse giue this 


You, maister Maior, iooke to your citizens; 
You, maister Sherife, vnto your shire; and you 
As Justices, in euery ones precinct, 126 

There be no meetings. When the vulgar sort 
Sit on their Ale -bench, with their cups and 


Matters of state be not their common talke, 
Nor pure religion by their lips prophande. 130 
Let vs returne vnto the Bench againe, 
And there examine further of this fray. 

Enter a Baily and a Serieant. 
Sher. Sirs, haue ye taken the lord Powesse 


Ba. No, nor heard of him. 
Ser. No, hee's gone farre enough. 135 
2. lu. They that are left behind shall 

answer all. [Exeunt. 

100 that] they 31 
Dldcustle'.s f'f 

107 And 'tis Q2, etc. 


SCENE II. Eltham. An antechamber in the 


Enter Suffolke, Bishop of Rochester, Butler, 
parson of Wrotham. 

Suffolke. Now, my lord Bishop, take free 


To speake your minde: what is your sute to vs? 
Bishop. My noble Lord, no more than what 

you know, 

And haue bin oftentimes inuested with: 
Grieuous complaints haue past betweene the 

lippes 5 

Of enuious persons to vpbraide the Cleargy, 
Some carping at the liuings which we haue, 
And others spurning at the ceremonies 
That are of auncient custome in the church. 
Amongst the which, Lord Cobham is a chief e: 
What inconuenience may proceede hereof, 1 1 
Both to the King and to the common wealth, 
May easily be discernd, when like a frensie 
This innouation shall possesse their mindes. 
These vpstarts will haue followers, to vphold 1 5 
Their damnd opinion, more than Harry shall 
To vndergoe his quarrell gainst the French. 
Suffolke. What proofe is there against them 

to be had, 

That what you say the law may iustifie? 
Bishop. They giue themselues the name of 

Protestants, 20 

And meetc in fields and solitary groues. 
Sir lohn. Was euer heard, my Lord, the like 

til now? 

That theeues and rebells s bloud, heretikes, 
Playne heretikes, lie stand toote to their 

Should haue, to colour their vile practises, 25 
A title of such worth as Protestant? 

Enter one wyth a letter. 
Suf. 0, but you must not sweare; it ill 


One of your coate to rappe out bloudy oathes. 
Bish. Pardon him, good my Lord, it is his 


An honest country prelate, who laments 30 
To see such foule disorder in the church. 
Sir lohn. Theres one they call him Sir 

lohn Old -castle 
He has not his name for naught: for like a 


Doth he encompasse them within his walls; 
But till that castle be subuerted quite, 35 

We ne're shall be at quiet in the realme. 
Bish. That is our sute, my Lord, that he be 

Scene II. (/f. mlil 3! 23 s bloud] s'blooct, my lord M 



And brought in question for his heresie. 
Beside, two letters brought me out of Wales, 
Wherin my Lord Herford writes to me, 40 
What tumult and sedition was begun, 
About the Lord Cobham at the Sises there, 
(For they had much ado the calme the rage), 
And that the valiant Herbert is there slaine. 

Suf. A fire that must be quencht. Wei, say 
no more, 45 

The King anon goes to the counsell chamber, 
There to debate of matters touching France: 
As he doth passe by, He informe his grace 
Concerning your petition: Master Butler, 
If I forget, do you remember me. 5 

But. I will, my Lord. [Offer him a purse. 

Bish. Not for a recompence, 
But as a token of our loue to you, 
By me my Lords of the cleargie do present 
This purse, and in it full a thousand Angells, 
Praying your Lordship to accept their gift. 56 

Suf. I thanke them, my Lord Bishop, for 

their loue, 

But will not take their mony; if you please 
To giue it to this gentleman, you may. 

Bish. Sir, then we craue your furtherance 
herein. 60 

But. The best I can, my Lord of Rochester. 

Bish. Nay, pray ye take it; trust me but you 

Sir lohn. Were ye all three vpon NewMar- 

ket heath, 
You should not neede straine curtsie who 

should ha'te; 
Sir lohn would quickely rid ye of that care. 65 

Suf. The King is comming. Feare ye not, 

my Lord; 

The very first thing I will breake with him 
Shal be about your matter. 

Enter K. Harry and Huntington in lalke. 

Har. My Lord of Suff olke, 
Was it not saide the Cleargy did refuse 70 
To lend vs mony toward our warres in France? 

Suf. It was, my Lord, but very wrongfully. 

Har. I know it was, for Huntington here 

tells me, 
They haue bin very bountifull of late. 

Suf. And still they vow, my gracious Lord, 
to be so, _ s 

Hoping your maiestie will thinke of them 
As of your louing subiects, and suppresse 
All such malitious errors as begin 
To spot their calling, and disturb the church. 

40 Herford] Hertford QS,Ff: of Hereford conj. M 
54 (my Lords) the Clergy dotli 2, etc. 62 prav 

" 1 Qs ' F/: pray y u tak * * 

Har. God else forbid: why, Suffolke, is 
there 80 

Any new rupture to disquiet them? 

S/. No new, my Lord; the old is great 


And so increasing as, if not cut downe, 
Will breede a scandale to your royall state, 
And set your Kingdome quickely in an vp- 
roare. 85 

The Kentish knight, Lord Cobham, in despight 
Of any law, or spirituall discipline, 
Maintaines this vpstart new religion still, 
And diuers great assemblies by his meanes 
And priuate quarr ells are commenst abroad, 90 
As by this letter more at large, my liege, 
Is made apparant. 

Har. We do find it here: 
There was in Wales a certaine fray of late, 
Betweene two noblemen, but what of this? 95 
Followes it straight, Lord Cobham must be he 
Did cause the same? I dare be sworne, good 

He neuer dreampt of any such contention. 

Bish. But in his name the quarrell did 

About the opinion which he held, my liege. 100 

Har. How if it did? was either he in place, 
To take part with them, or abette them in it? 
If brabling fellowes, whose inkindled bloud, 
Seethes in their fiery vaines, will needes go 
fight, 104 

Making their quarr ells of some words that passt 
Either of you, or you, amongst their cuppes, 
Is the fault yours, or are they guiltie of it? 

Suffolke With pardon of your Highnesse, 

my dread lord, 

Such little sparkes, neglected, may in time 
Grow to a mighty flame: but thats not all; no 
He doth, beside, maintaine a strange religion, 
And will not be compel Id to come to masse. 

Bish. We do beseech you, therefore, gra 
cious prince, 

Without offence vnto your maiesty, 
We may be bold to vse authoritie. 115 

Harry As how? 

Bishop To summon him vnto the Arches, 
Where such offences haue their punishment. 

Harry To answere personally? is that your 

Bishop It is, my lord. 1 20 

Harry How, if he appeale? 

Bishop He cannot, my Lord, in such a case 
as this. 

Suffolke Not where Religion is the plea, my 

91-2 Om lint, in QS, Ff 101 How] What Q3, (tc. 
12:2 My Lord, he cannot Q?, etc. 



ACT I, Sc. III. 

Harry I tooke it alwayeo, that our selfe 

stoode out, 

As a sufficient refuge, vnto whome 1 25 

Not any but might lawfully appeale. 
But weele not argue now vpon that poynt. 
For sir lohn Old -castle, whom you accuse, 
Let me intreate you to dispence awhile 
With your high title of prehemincnce. 130 

[in scorne. 

Report did neuer yet condomne him so, 
But he hath alwayes beene reputed loyall: 
And in my knowledge I can say thus much, 
That he is vertuous, wise, and honourable. 
If any way his conscience be seduc'de, 135 
To wauer in his faith, He send for him, 
And school e him priuately; if that serue not, 
Then afterward you may proceede against him. 
Butler, be you the messenger for vs, 
And will him presently repaire to court, [f xeunl . 

sir lohn How now, my lord, why stand you 
discontent? 141 

In sooth, me thinkes the King hath well 

Bishop Yea, yea, sir lohn, if he would keepe 

his word; 

But I perceiue he fauours him so much, 
As this will be to small effect, I feare. 145 

sir lohn Why, then, He tell you what y'are 

best to do: 

If you suspect the King will be but cold 
In reprehending him, send you a processe too 
To serue vpon him: so you may be sure 
To make him answer't, howsoere it fall. 150 

Bishop And well remembred! I will haue 

it so. 
A Sumner shall be sent about it strait. | E.xi7. 

sir lohn Yea, doe so. In the meane space 

this remaines 

For kinde sir lohn of Wrotham, honest lacke. 
Me thinkes the purse of gold the Bishop gaue 
Made a good shew; it had a tempting looke. 
Beshrew me, but my fingers ends do itch 
To be vpon those rudduks. Well, tis thus: 
I am not as the worlde does take me for; 159 
If euer woolfe were cloathed in sheepes coate, 
Then I am he, olds huddle and twang, yfaith, 
A priest in shew, but in plaine termes a theefe. 
Yet, let me tell you too, an honest theefe, 
One that will take it where it may be sparde, 
And spend it freely in good fellowship. 1 65 
I haue as many shapes as Proteus had, 
That still, when any villany is done, 
There may be none suspect it was sir lohn. 
Besides, to comfort me, for whats this life, 

Except the crabbed bitternes thereof 170 

Be sweetened now and then with lechery? 
I haue my Doll, my concubine, as t'were, 
To frollicke with, a lusty bounsing gerle. 
But whilst I loyter here, the gold may scape, 
And that must not be so. It is mine owne; 175 
Therefore, He meete him on his way to court, 
And shriue him of it: there will be the sport. 


(SCENE HI. Kent. An outer court before 

lord Cobhum's house.} 
Enter three or foure poore people: somesouldiers, 

some old men. 
1. God helpl God help I there's law for 


But theres no law for our necessity: 

There be more stockes to set poore soldiers in, 

Than there be houses to releeue them at. 

Old man. Faith, housekeeping decay es in 

euery place, 5 

Euen as Saint Peter writ, still worse and worse. 

4. Maister maior of Rochester has giuen 

commaundenvent, that none shall goe abroade 

out of the parish; and they haue set an order 

downe forsooth, what euery poore housholder 

must giue towards our reliefe: where there be 

some ceased, I may say to you, had almost as 

much neede to beg as we. 1 3 

1 . It is a hard world the while. 

Old man. If a poore man come to a doore 
to aske for Gods sake, they aske him for a 
licence, or a certificate from a lustice. 

2. Faith we haue none but what we beare 
vppon our bodies, our maimed limbs, God 
help vs. 20 

4. And yet, as lame as I am, He with the 
king into France, if I can crawle but a ship- 
boorde. I hadde rather be slaine in France, 
than starue in England. 24 

Olde man. Ha, were I but as lusty as I was 
at the battell of Shrewsbury, I would not dee 
as I do: but we are now come to the good lord 
Cobhams, to the best man to the poore that 
is in all Kent. 

4. God blesse him! there be but few such. 30 

124 out H,a. : out 07: on't 0?, Ff 143 Yea, 
yea] I. I (?:'. Ff 149 you] ye Q 2, Ff 158 those 
golden ruddocks Ff, itc. 

Enter Lord Cobham with Harpools. 
Cob. Thou peeuish, froward man, what 

wouldst thou haue? 
Harp. This pride, this pride, brings all to 


Scene III. tic. dil. M S. D. Enter foure Q?, fj 
') Faith] I Q2, Ff : Ay 7?, etc. 8 command Q 2, etc. 
9 and has set down an order Q2. etc. 15 man aske 
at doore for Q2, etc. 22 but crawle Q ?. ttc. -6 
at Shrewsbury battel Q2, etc. 28 Cobhams, the 

I Q3,ttc. tlatisom. Q2, ttc. 



I seru'de your father, and your grandfather; 
Shew me such two men now! 
No! No! Your backes, your backes, the diuell 
and pride, 35 

Has cut the throate of all good housekeeping. 
They were the best Yeomens masters, 
That euer were in England. 

Cob. Yea, except thou haue a crue of seely 


And sturdy rogues still feeding at my gate, 40 
There is no hospitalitie with thee. 

Harp. They may sit at the gate well enough, 
but the diuell of any thing you giue them, 
except they will eate stones. 

Cob. Tis long, then, of such hungry knaues 

as you. [pointing to the ffeggars. 

Yea, sir, heres your retinue; your guests be 

come. 46 

They know their howers, I warrant you. 

Old (man). God blesse your honour! God 

saue the good Lord Cobham 
And all his house! 

Soul. Good your honour, bestow your 
blessed almes 50 

Vpon poore men. 

Cob. Now, sir, here be your Almes knights. 

Now are you 
As safe as the Emperour. 

Harp. My Almes knights 1 nay, th' are yours . 
It is a shams for you, and He stand too't; 55 
Your foolish almes maintain es more vaga 

Then all the noblemen in Kent beside. 
Out, you rogues, you knaues! worke for your 

Alas, poore men! Lord, they may beg their 

hearts out; 

Theres no more charitie amongst men then 

amongst 60 

So many mastiffe dogges! What make you 


You needy knaues? Away, away, you villaines. 

2. soul. I beseech you, sir, be good to vs. 

Cobham Nay, nay, they know thee well 

enough. I thinke that all the beggars in this 

land are thy acquaintance. Goe bestowe your 

almes; none will controule you, sir. 67 

Harp. What should I giue them? you are 

growne so beggarly, you haue scarce a bitte 

:$4 Line end* no. no Q/. Ff 154-8 Font- lines N, etc.. 
fiidiny no, no, your backs : throat : best ; England 
;!7 Line end* that Qy, Ff 39 seely] filthy 2. etr. 

45 you] (?) yon 48- 1 ) Prone all lt. " ',> Kn,h 

km.L'hts Qq. Ff: con: M 54-62 Prose . 59 O 
Lord oin. Q ?, etr. (VJ-J Four Una in Qj, Ff. aifliit// 
men; dogges: knaues: villaines 60 amongst: 

pi-mi-mtucc 'mongst 00. 70 that you can scareo giue 
a bit <l ?, etc. 

of breade to giue at your doore. You talke of 
your religion so long, that you haue banished 
charitie from amongst you ; a man may make 
a flaxe shop in your kitchin chimnies, for any 
fire there is stirring. 

Cobham If thou wiit giue them nothing, 
send them hence: let them not stand here 
staruing in the colde. 77 

Harp. Who! I driue them hence? If I 
driue poore men from your doore, He be hangd; 
I know not what I may come to my selfe. Yea, 
God help you, poore knaues; ye see the world, 
yfaithl Well, you had a mother: well, God be 
with thee, good Lady; thy soule's at rest. She 
gaue more in shirts and smocks to poore chil 
dren, then you spend in your house, & yet you 
hue a beggar too. 86 

Cobham Euen the worst deede that ere my 
mother did was in releeuing such a foole as 

Harpoole Yea, yea, I am a foole still. With 
all your wit you will die a beggar; go too. 91 

Cobham Go, you olde foole; giue the poore 
people something. Go in, poore men, into the 
inner court, and take such alms as there is to 
be had. 95 

Souldier God blesse your honor. 

Harpoole Hang you, roags, hang you; theres 
nothing but misery amongst you; you feare 
no law, you. [Exit. 

Olde man God blesse you, good maister 
Rate, 'God saue your life; you are good to the 
poore still. 102 

Enter the Lord Powes disguised, and shrowde 

Cobham What fellow's yonder comes along 

the groue? 

Few passengers there be that know this way: 
Me thinkes he stops as though he stayd for me, 
And meant to shrowd himselfe amongst the 
bushes. 106 

I know the Cleargie hate me to the death, 
And my religion gets me many foes: 
And this may be some desperate rogue, subornd 
To worke me mischief e. As it pleaseth God! 
If he come toward me, sure He stay his com- 
ming 1 1 1 

Be he but one man what soere he be. 

The Lord Powis comes on. 
I haue beene well acquainted with that face. 
Powis Well met, my honorable lord and 

72 amongst nm. OS. t!c. 80, 82 yea. yf'aith "in. 

Ql>. (tc. ' 81 help ye .?. ftr. 82 we'll. <Jod] U 

God Q ?, elr. 90 Yea, yea] 1 QS 107 hates <) ;'. 
etr. 109-12 Isi'tieis end in QJ rogue: it; sure: 

man. be : con: -V 



ACT I, Sc. III. 

Cobham You are welcome, sir, what ere 

you be; "5 

But of this sodaine, sir, I do not know you. 
Powis I am one that wisheth well vnto your 


My name is Powes, an olde friend of yours. 
Cobham My honorable lord, and worthy 


What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent, 
And thus disguised in this strange attire? 121 

Powis My Lord, an vnexpected accident 
Hath at this time inforc'de me to these parts; 
And thus it hapt: Not yet ful fiue dayes since, 
Now at the last Assise at Hereford, 1 25 

It chanst that the lord Herbert and my selfe, 
Mongst other things, discoursing at the table, 
Did fall in speech about some certaine points 
Of Wickdiffes doctrine gainst the papacie 
And the religion catholique, maintaind 1 30 
Through the most part of Europe at this day. 
This wilfull teasty lord stucke not to say 
That Wickcliffe was a knaue, a schismatike, 
His doctrine diuelish and hereticall, 134 

And what soere he was maintaind the same, 
Was traitor both to God and to his country. 
Being moued at his peremptory speech, 
I told him some maintained those opinions, 
Men, and truer subjects then lord Herbert was: 
And he replying in comparisons, 140 

Your name was vrgde, my lord, gainst his 


To be a perfect fauourer of the trueth. 
And to be short, from words we fell to blowes, 
Our seruants and our tenants taking parts 
Many on both sides hurt and for an 

houre MS 

The broyle by no meanes could be pacified, 
Vntill the ludges, rising from the bench, 
Were in their persons forc'de to part the fray. 
Cobham I hope no man was violently slaine. 
Powis Faith, none, I trust, but the lord 

Herberts selfe, 150 

Who is in truth so dangerously hurt, 
As it is doubted he can hardly scape. 
Cobham I am sory, my good lord, of these 

ill newes. 
Powis This is the cause that driues me into 

Kent, 154 

To shrowd my selfe with you, so good a friend, 
Vntill I heare how things do speed at home. 
Cobham Your lordship is most welcome 

vnto Cobham; 

But I am very sory, my good lord, 
My name was brought in question in this 


115 very welcome J/ 128 Did M : To 7. Ff 

139 (.?) Truer men and subjects 141 his] this Ff 

Considering I haue many enemies, 1 60 

That threaten malice, and do lie in waite 
To take aduantage of the smallest thing. 
But you are welcome: and repose your lordship, 
And keepe your selfe here secret in my house, 
Vntill we heare how the lord Herbert speedes. 
Here comes my man. [Enter Harpoole. 

Sirra, what newes? 

Harpoole Yonders one maister Butler of 
the priuie chamber, is sent vnto you from the 
King. 1 70 

Powis I pray God the lord Herbert be not 


And the King, hearing whither I am gone, 
Hath sent for me. 

Cob. Comfort your selfe my lord, I warrant 
you. 174 

Harpoole Fellow, what ailes thee? doost 
thou quake? dost thou shake? dost thou trem 
ble? ha? 

Cob. Peace, you old foole! Sirra, conuey 
this gentleman in the backe way, and bring the 
other into the walke. 180 

Harpoole Come, sir; you are welcome, if 
you loue my lorde. 

Powis God haue mercy, gentle friend. 


Cob. I thought as much: that it would not 

be long, 
Before I heard of something from the King 

About this matter. 


Enter Harpoole with Maister Butler. 
Harpoole Sir, yonder my lord walkes, you 

see him; 

Ilo haue your men into the Celler the while. 
Cobh. Welcome, good maister Butler. 
Buthr Thankes, my good lord: his Maies- 

tie dooth commend 

His loue vnto your lordship, 190 

And wils you to repaire vnto the court. 
Cobh. God blesse his Highnesse, and con 
found his ennemies! 
I hope his Maiestie is well. 
Butler In health, my lord. 
Cobh. God long continue it! Mee thinkes 
you looke 195 

As though you were not well: what ailes you, 


Butler Faith, I haue had a foolish odde 

162 advantage On : the vantage Ff, etc. 171 I 

OIH. 3, etc. the] that the 3t 171-3 Prone Qq, Ff: 

Q 2, etc. 

182 God haue mercy! Gramercy ( 

186-7 Prose M " 189- 

corr. M 

183-5 Prose Qq, Ff: coir. R 

!-l I'weiti nil (rf'l. 192-3 Prone Qq, Ff: corr. 31 

14 In good health Ff, etc. 1% ailes you] ayle ye 

Q2, ttc. Iffl-Xt Prose Qq, Ff: con: M 



That angers mee: comming ouer Shooters hill, 
There came a fellow to me like a Sailer, 
And asked me money; and whilst I staide my 
horse 20 

To draw my purse, he takes th' aduantage of 
A little banck and leapes behind me, whippes 
My purse away, and with a sodaine ierke, 
I know not how, threw me at least three yards 
Out of my saddle. I neuer was so robbed 205 
In all my life. 

Cobh. I am very sorie,sir,f or your mischance. 
Wee will send our warrant foorth, to stay such 
suspitious persons as shal be found. Then, 
maister Butler, we wil attend you. 210 

Butler I humbly thanke your lordship, I 
will attend you. 

(ACT H. 
SCENE I. The same.} 

Enter the Sumner. 

Sum. I haue the law to warrant what I do; 
and though the Lord Cobham be a noble man, 
that dispenses not with law: I dare serue pro- 
cesse were a fiue noble men. Though we 
Sumners make sometimes a mad slip in a 
corner with a prettie wench, a Sumner must 
not goe alwayes by seeing: a manne may be 
content to hide his eies, where he may feele 
his profit. Well, this is my Lord Cobhams 
house if I can deuise to speake with him; if 
not, lie clap my citation vpon's doore: so my 
lord of Rochester bid me. But me thinkes 
here comes one of his men. 13 

Enter Harpoole. 

Harp. Welcome, good fellow, welcome; 
who wouldst thou speake with? 

Sum. With my lord Cobham I would speake, 
if thou be one of his men. 

Harp. Yes, I am one of his men, but thou 
canst not speake with my lord. 

Sam. May I send to him then? 20 

Harp. lie tel thee that, when I know thy 

Sum. I will not tel my errand to thee. 

Harp. Then keepe it to thy selfe, and walke 
like a knaue as thou earnest. 25 

Sam. I tell thee, my lord keepes no knaues, 

Harp. Then thou seruest him not, I beleeue : 
what lord is thy master? 

199 a fellow] one Q 2, ifc. 200 ask'd my J/ 207- 
10 Vent M 208 stay all such M 210 we'll attend 
on you M Act II. etc. add. M 3-4 serue a pro 
cesse were lie Q8, e'c. 9 my om. OS, etc. 10 
house ; if I cannot speak with him, lie Q 2 etc !> 
bad Q 3, etc. 


Sam. My lord of Rochester. 30 

Harp. In good time! And what wouldst 
thou haue with my lord Cobham? 

Sum. I come, by vertue of a processe, to 
ascite him to appeare before my lord in the 
court at Rochester. 35 

Harp, (aside). Wei, God grant me patience! 
I could eate this conger. My lord is not at 
home; therefore it were good, Sumner, you 
caried your 'processe backe. 

Sam. Why, if he will not be spoken withall, 
then will I leaue it here; and see you that he 
take knowledge of it. 42 

Harp. Swounds, you slaue, do you set vp 
your bills here! go to; take it downe againe. 
Doest thou know what thou dost? Dost thou 
know on whom thou seruest processe? 

Sam. Yes, marry, doe I; Sir lohn Old -castle, 
Lord Cobham. 43 

Harp. I am glad thou knowest him yet; 
and, sirra, dost not thou know, that the lord 
Cobham is a braue lord, that keepes good beef e 
and beere in his house, and euery day feedes 
a hundred poore people at's gate, and keepes 
a hundred tall f ellowes? 

Sum. Whats that to my processe? 55 

Harp. Mary, this, sir I is this processe 

Sum. Yes, mary. 

Harp. And this seale waxe? 

Sum. It is so. 60 

Harp. If this be parchment, & this wax, 
eate you this parchment and this waxe, or I 
will make parchment of your skinne, and beate 
your brains into waxe: Sirra Sumner, dispatch; 
deuoure, sirra, deuoure. 65 

Sum. I am my lord of Rochesters Sumner; 
I came to do my office, and thou shalt answere 

Harp. Sirra, no railing, but betake you to 
your teeth. Thou shalt eate no worse then 
thou bringst with thee: thou bringst it for my 
lord, and wilt thou bring my lord worse then 
thou wilt eate thy selfe? 73 

Sum. Sir, I brought it not my lord to eate. 

Harp. 0, do you sir me now? all's one for 
that: but ile make you eate it, for bringing it. 

Sam. I cannot eate it. 

Harp. Can you not? sbloud ile beate you 
vntil you haue a stomacke. \he beates him. 

Sum. hold, hold, good master seruing- 
man! I will eate it. 81 

34 scite Q2 : cite R 41 you OIH. OP, Ff 45 
Dost thou] dost thee Q 1 46 a processe Ff,'e(c. 47 
on Sir lohn QS, etc. .10 thou om. Ff, R dost 
thou not M 58 marry is it Ff, d<: '62 this waxe] 
wax Q 2 C9 you] your self //, < V. 76 but om. 
Q2,ttc. 79 till Q 2, etc. 


ACT II, Sc. I. 

Harp. Be champping, be chawing, sir; or He 
chaw you, you rogue! the purest of the hony! 
Tough waxe is the purest of the hony. 

Sum. Lord, sir! oh! oh! [he eatts. 

Harp. Feed, feed] wholsome, rogue, whol- 
some! 86 

Cannot you, like an honest Sumner, walke with 
the diuell your brother, to fetch in .your 
Bailiffes rents, but you must come to a noble 
mans house with processe? Sbloud ! if thy seale 
were as broad as the lead that couers Rochester 
church, thou shouldst eate it. 92 

Sum. 0, I am almost choaked! I am 
almost choaked! 

Harp. Who's within there? wil you shame 
my Lord? is there no beere in the house? 
Butler! I say. 97 

Enter Butter. 

But. Heere, here. 

Harp. Giue him Beere. [he drinkes. 

There; tough old sheepskins bare, drie meate. 

Sum. sir, let me go no further; He eate 
my word. 101 

Harp. Yea, mary, sir! so I meane: you shall 
eate more then your own word, for ile make 
you eate all the words in the processe. Why, 
you drab monger, cannot the secrets of al the 
wenches in a sheire serue your turne, but you 
must come hither with a citation? with a poxc! 
Ile cite you. [He has then done.] A cup of 
sacke for the Sumner. 

But. Here, sir, here. no 

Harp. Here, slaue, I drinke to thee. 

Sum. I thanke you, sir. 

Harp. Now if thou findst thy stomacke 
well because thou shalt see my Lord keep's 
meate in's house if thou wilt go in, thou shalt 
haue a peece of beefe to thy break fast. 

Sum. No, I am very well, good M(aister) 
seruing-man, I thanke you; very well sir. 118 

Harp. I am glad on't. Then be walking 
towards Rochester to keepe your stomack 
warme: and Sumner, if I may know you dis 
turb a good wench within this Diocesse; if I 
do not make thee eate her peticote, if there 
were four yards of Kentish cloth in't, I am 
a villaine. 1 25 

Sum. God be with you, M aister) seruing- 
maan. (Exit.} 

Harp. Farewell, Sumner. 

tu Sum. Oq, Ff : of the oin. 
Q '.'. i./i: 83-4 Tough wax is the purest houey. 

*4 Tough . . hony i/i 
'.'. i./i: 83-4 To 

Sum. The purest of the honey : J/ 85 0. . on ! 

given to Harp. QIJ, Ff 86 tis wholsome Rogue Q 2. 
etc. 90 Sbloud oin. 2, etc. 100 bare] but conj. M 
121 may] do 03, etc. 126 

. &. 1>. whl. Q2 

102 so out. Q?, ii>\ 
Avith you] w'ye <J ;', clc. 

Enter Constable. 

Con. God saue you M(aister) Harpoole. 

Harp. Welcome, Constable, welcom, Con 
stable; what news with thee? 130 

Con. And't please you, M(aister) Harpoole, 
I am to make hue and crie, for a fellow with 
one eie that has rob'd two Clothiers, and am to 
craue your hindrance, for to search all sus 
pected places; and they say there was a woman 
in the company. 136 

Harp. Hast thou bin at the Alehouse? hast 
thou sought there? 

Con. I durst not search, sir, in my Lord 
Cobhams libertie, except I had some of his 
seruants, which are for my warrant. 141 

Harp. An honest Constable! an honest 
Constable! Cal forth him that keepes the 
Alehouse there. 

Con. Ho! who's within there? 145 

(Enter Ale-mari) 

Ale man Who calls there? come neere a 
Gods name! Oh, is't you, M(aister) Constable 
and M(aister) Harpoole? you are welcome with 
all my heart. What make you here so earely 
this morning? 150 

Harp. Sirra, what strangers do you lodge? 
there is a robbery done this morning, and we 
are to search for all suspected persons. 

Aleman. Gods bores! I am sory for't: 
yfaith, sir, I lodge no body but a good honest 
mery priest, they call him sir lohn a 
Wrootham and a handsome woman that is 
his neece, that he saies he has some sute in 
law for; and as they go vp & down to London, 
sometimes they lie at my house. 1 60 

Harp. What, is he here in thy house now? 

Ale-m. She is, sir. I promise you, sir, he 
is a quiet man; and because he will not trouble 
too many roomes, he makes the woman lie 
euery night at his beds feete. 1 65 

Harp. Bring her forth! Constable, bring 
her forth! let's see her, let's see her. 

Ale-m. Dorothy, you must come downe 
to M^aister, Constable. 169 

Dol. Anon, forsooth. [she enters. 

Harp. Welcome, sweete lasse, welcome. 

Dol. I thank you, good M ^aister) seruing- 
man, and master Constable also. 

Harp. A plump girle by the mas, a plump 

128 God out. Q2, etc. 132 line to crie QJ 134 
for uiu. Q i", etc. 139 sir oin. Ff, etc. 141 which 
are oin. QS, etc. 142 An honest Constable once in 

?2, etc. S. D. add. M 146-7 come. . name OKI. 
S, etc. 156 mery om. Ff, etc. cal'd sir lohn Q 2, 
e'c. 161 he] she Q S, etc. 162, 168 Pnjti C'ou. 

<l<l : '.KIT. Ff 



girle! Ha, Dol, ha! Wilt thou forsake the 
priest, and go with me? 1 7 6 

Con. A! well said, M(aister) Harpoole; you 
are a merrie old man, yfaith. Yfaith, you wil 
neuer be old. Now, by the macke, a prettie 
wench indeed ! 1 8o 

Harp. Ye old mad mery Constable, art thou 
aduis'de of that. Ha, well said, Dol! fill some 
ale here. 

Dol. (aside). Oh, if I wist this old priest 
would not sticke to me, by loue, I would ingle 
this old seruing-man. 186 

Harp. Oh you old mad colt! yfaith, He 
feak you! fil all the pots in the house there. 

Con. Oh, wel said, M(aister) Harpoole! you 
are heart of oake when all's done. 190 

Harp. Ha, Dol, thou hast a sweete paire of 
lippes, by the masse. 

Doll Truely you are a most sweet olde man, 
as euer I sawe; by my troth, you haue a face, 
able to make any woman in loue with you. 1 95 

Harp. Fill, sweete Doll; He drinke to thee. 

Doll ' I pledge you, sir, and thanke you 

And I pray you let it come.' 

Harp, (imbracing her). Doll, canst thou loue 
me? A mad merry lasse! would to God I had 
neuer scene thee! 201 

Doll I warrant you, you will not out of my 
thoughts this tweluemonth; truely you are as 
full of fauour, as a man may be. Ah, these 
sweete grey lockes! by my troth, they are most 
louely. 206 

Constable Gods boores, maister Harpoole, 
I will haue one busse too. 

Harp. No licking for you, Constable! hand 
off, hand off! 210 

Constable Bur lady, I loue kissing as wel as 

Doll Oh, you are an od boie; you haue a 
wanton eie of your owne! ah, you sweet sugar 
lipt wanton, you will winne as many womens 
hearts as come in your company. 216 

Enter Priest. 

Wroth. Doll, come hither. 

Harp. Priest, she shal not. 

Doll lie come anone, sweete loue. 

Wroth. Hand off, old fornicator. 220 

Harp. Vicar, He sit here in spight of thee. 
Is this fitte stuffe for a priest to carry vp and 
downe with him? 

Wrotham Ah, sirra, dost thou not know, 

176 with mee, Doll QS, etc. 178 yfaith once 02, 
etc. 188 feak Q 1 : ferke Q2, etc. 197-8 Prose 

Qq, Ff: con: M. I'art of an old Imllad conj. M 207 
Gods] Cud Q2, etc. 209-10 hands .. hands M 213 
o 1] old M 2->0 hands 31 224 Ah om. Q 3, etc. 

that a good fellow parson may haue a chappel 
of ease, where his parish Church is farre off? 

Harp. You whooreson ston'd Vicar! 

Wroth. You olde stale ruffin! you lion of 
Cots wold! 

Harp. Swounds, Vicar, He geld you! 230 
[flies upon him. 

Constable Keepe the Kings peace! 

Doll Murder! murder! murder! 

Ale man Holde! as you are men, holde! 
for Gods sake be quiet! Put vp your weapons; 
you drawe not in my house. 235 

Harp. You whooreson bawdy priest! 

Wroth. You old mutton monger! 

Constable Hold, sir lohn, hold! 

Doll (to the Priest) I pray thee, sweet heart, 
be quiet. I was but sitting to drinke a pot of ale 
with him, euen as kinde a man as euer I met 
with. 242 

Harp. Thou art a theefe, I warrant thee. 

Wroth. Then I am but as thou hast beene 
in thy dayes. Lets not be ashamed of our 
trade; the King has beene a theefe himself e. 

Doll Come, be quiet. Hast thou sped? 

Wroth. I haue, wench: here be crownes, 

Dell Come, lets be all friends then. 250 

Constable Well said, mistris Dorothy, ifaith. 

Harp. Thou art the madst priest that euer 
I met with. 

Wroth. Giue me thy hand, thou art as good 
a fellow. I am a singer, a drinker, a bencher, a 
wencher! I can say a masse, and kisse a 
lasse! Faith, I haue a parsonage, and 
bicause I would not be at too much charges, 
this wench serues me for a sexton. 260 

Harp. Well said, mad priest, weele in and 
be friends. [exeunt. 

(SCENE II. London. A room in the Axe Inn, 

without Bishop -gate.} 
Enter sir Roger Acton, master Bourne, master 

Beuerley, and William Murley the brewer 

of Dunstable. 
Acton Now, maister Murley, I am well 


You know our arrant, and do like the cause, 
Being a man affected as we are. 

M.U. Mary, God dild ye, daintie my deere! 
no master, good sir Roger Acton Knight, mais 
ter Bourne, and maister Beuerley esquires, 
gentlemen, and iustices of the peace no 
maister I, but plaine William Murly, the 
brewer of Dunstable, your honest neighbour, 

251 ifaith om. QS, etc. S. I). Scene II. etc. add. M 
5 Knight om. QS, etc. 6 esquires om. QS, etc. 



ACT II, So. II. 

and your friend, if ye be men of my profes 
sion, ii 

Beuerley Professed friends to Wickliffe, 
foes to Rome. 

Murl. Hold by me, lad; leane vpon that 
staff e, good maister Beuerley: all of a house. 
Say your mind, say your mind. 1 5 

Acton You know our faction now is growne 

so great, 
Throughout the realme, that it beginnes to 


Into the Cleargies eies, and the Kings eares. 
High time it is that we were drawne to head, 
Our generall and officers appoynted; 20 

And warres, ye wot, will aske great store of coine. 
Able to strength our action with your purse, 
You are elected for a colonell 
Ouer a regiment of fifteene bands. 24 

Murley Fue, paltrie, paltrie! in and out, to 
and fro! be it more or lesse, vppoa occasion. 
Lorde haue mercie vppon vs, what a world is 
this I Sir Roger Acton, I am but a Dunstable 
man, a plaine brewer, ye know: will lusty 
Caualiering captaines, gentlemen, come at my 
calling, goe at my bidding? Daintie my deere, 
theile doe a dogge of waxe, a horse of cheese, 
a pricke and a pudding. No, no, ye must 
appoint some lord, or knight at least, to that 
place. 35 

Bourne Why, master Murley, you shall be 

a Knight: 

Were you not in election to be shrieue? 
Haue ye not past all offices but that? 
Haue ye not wealth to make your wife a lady? 
I warrant you, my lord, our Generall 40 

Bestowes that honor on you at first sight. 

Murley Mary, God dild ye, daintie my 


But tell me, who shalbe our Generall? 
Wheres the lord Cobham, sir lohn Old -castle, 
That noble almes -giuer , housekeeper, vertuous, 
Religious gentleman? Come to me there, boies, 
Come to me there! 47 

Acton Why, who but ho shall be our 

Murley And shall he knight me, and make 
me colonell? 

Acton My word for that: sir William 
Murley, knight. 50 

Murley Fellow sir Roger Acton, knight, all 
fellowes I meane in armes how strong arc 
we? how many partners? Our enemies beside 
the King are mightie ; be it more or lesse vpon 
occasion, reckon our force. 55 

Acton There are of vs, our friends, and fol 
Three thousand and three hundred at the least; 

Of northerne lads foure thousand, beside horse; 
From Kent there comes with sir lohn Old- 


Seauen thousand; then from London issue out, 
Of maisters, seruants, strangers, prentices, 61 
Fortie odde thousands into Ficket field, 
Where we appoynt our speciall randeuous. 

Murley Fue, paltry, paltry, in and out, to 
and fro! Lord haue mercie vpon vs, what a 
world is this! Wheres that Ficket field e, sir 
Roger? 67 

Acton Behinde saint Giles in the field neere 

Murley Newgate, vp Holborne, S. Giles in 
the field, and toTiborne: an old saw. For the 
day, for the day? 

Acton On friday next, the foureteenth day 
of January. 74 

Murley Tyllie vallie, trust me neuer if I 
haue any liking of that day! fue, paltry, paltry! 
friday, quoth a! Dismall day! Childermasse 
day this yeare was friday. 

Beuerley Nay, maister Murley, if you 

obserue such daies, 

We make some question of your constancie. 
All daies are like to men resolu'de in right. 81 

Murley Say Amen, and say no more; but 
say, and hold, master Beuerley: friday next, 
and Ficket field, and William Murley, and his 
merry men shalbe al one. I haue halfe a score 
iades that draw my beere cartes, 86 

And euery iade shall beare a knaue, 
And euery knaue shall weare a iacke, 
And euery iacke shal haue a scull, 
And euery scull shal shew a speare, 99 

And euery speare shal kill a foe 
At Ficket field, at Ficket field, 
lohn and Tom, and Dicke and Hodge, 
And Rafe and Robin, William & George, 
And all my knaues shall fight like men, 95 
At Ficket field on friday next. 

Bourne What summe of money meane you 
to disburse? 

Murley It may be modestly, decently, 
soberly, and handsomely I may bring fiue 
hundreth pound. zoo 

Acton Fiue hundreth, man! fiue thousand's 

not enough! 

A hundreth thousand will not pay our men 
Two months together. Either come preparde 
Like a braue Knight, and martiall Colonell, 
In glittering golde, and gallant furniture, 105 
Bringing in coyne a cart loade at the least, 
And all your followers mounted on good horse, 
Or neuer come disgracefull to vs all. 

77 quotli-a. a dismal M 87-96 Prone all idd. 
93-4 Tom, Dicke and Hodge, Eafe Q S, etc. 



Benerley Perchance you may be chosen 


Tenne thousand pound's the least that you can 
bring. II0 

Murley Paltry, paltry! in and out, to and 
fro, vpon occasion I haue ten thousand pound 
to spend, and tenne too. And rather than the 
Bishop shall haue his will of mee for rny con 
science, it shall out all. Flame and flaxe, flame 
and flaxe! it was gotte with water and mault, 
and it shal flie with fire and gunne powder. 
Sir Roger, a cart loade of mony til the axetree 
cracke, my self e and my men in Ficket field on 
friday next: remember my Knighthoode, and 
my place. There's my hand; He bee there. 121 

Acton See what Ambition may perswade 

men to, 

In hope of honor he will spend himselfe. 
Bourne I neuer thought a Brewer halfe so 


Beuerley Was neuer bankerout Brewer yet 

but one, ' 2 5 

With vsing too much mault, too little water. 

Acton Thatsno fault in Brewers now -adayes. 

Come, away, about our businesse. [exeunt. 

(SCENE III. An audience -chamber in the 

palace at Eltham.} 

Enter K. Harry, Suffolke, Butler, and Old- 
castle kneeling to the King. 
Harry Tis not enough, Lord Cobham, to 


You must forsake your grosse opinion. 
The Bishops find themselues much iniured, 
And though, for some good seruice you haue 


We for our part are pleasde to pardon you, 5 
Yet they will not so soone be satisfied. 

Cobham My gracious Lord, vnto your 
' Maiestie, 

Next vnto my God, I owe my life; 
And what is mine, either by natures gift, 
Or fortunes bountie, al is at your seruice. 10 
But, for obedience to the Pope of Rome, 
I owe him none, nor shall his shaueling priests 
That are in England alter my beliefe. 
If out of holy Scripture they can proue, 
That I am in an errour I will yeeld, 1 5 

And gladly take instruction at their hands; 
But otherwise, I do beseech your grace, 
My conscience may not be incroacht vpon, 

115 out om. Q8, etc. shall all go FS, dr.. Flame 
and flaxe, flaxe and flame Q?, etc. 118 axletree 

Q 2, etc. 128 Come, let's awav J/ K. V. Scene III. 
ttc. add. M 8 do owe JI 

Har. We would be loath to presse our sub- 

iects bodies, 

Much lesse their soules, the deere redeemed 
part 20 

Of him that is the ruler of vs all; 
Yet let me counsell ye, that might command: 
Do not presume to tempt them with ill words, 
Nor suffer any meetings to be had 
Within your house, but to the vttermost, 25 
Disperse the flockes of this new gathering sect. 

Cobham My liege, if any breathe, that dares 

come forth, 

And say my life in any of these points 
Deserues th' attainder of ignoble thoughts, 
Here stand I, crauing no remorce at all, 30 
But euen the vtmost rigor may be showne. 

Har. Let it suffice; we know your loyaltie. 
What haue you there? 

Cob. A deed of clemencie; 
Your Highnesse pardon for Lord Powesse life, 
Which I did beg, and you, my noble Lord, 36 
Of gracious fauour did vouchsafe to grant. 

Har. But yet it is not signed with our hand. 

Cob. Not yet, my Liege. 

[one ready with pen and incke. 

Har. The fact, you say, was done, 40 

Not of prepensed malice, but by chance. 

Cob. Vpon mine honor so, no otherwise. 

Har. There is his pardon; bid him make 
amends, [writes. 

And cleanse his soule to God for his offence. 
What we remit, is but the bodies scourge 

Enter Bishop. 
How now, Lord Bishop? 4 5 

Bishop Justice, dread Soueraigne! 
As thou art King, so graunt I may haue iustice. 
Har. What meanes this exclamation? lot vs 


Bish. Ah, my good Lord, the state's abusde, 
And our decrees most shamefully prophande. 
Har. How? or by whom? 5- 

Bish. Euen by this heretike, 
This lew, this Traitor to your maiestie. 

Cob. Prelate, thou liest, euen in thy greasie 


Or whosoeuer twits me with the name 
Of either traitor, or of heretike. 

Her. Forbeare, I say; and, Bishop, shea 
the cause 

From whence this late abuse hath bin deriu'df. 
Bish. Thus, mightie King: By general I 
consent, 60 

A messenger was sent to cite this Lord, 
To make appearance in the consistorie; 

22 ye] you OS, clc. 41 pretensod Q ?, Ft, -V: 

propenscil It. J'"/ic 50 is miu-li abu^'d 11 



ACT III, Sc. I. 

And comming to his house, a ruffian slaue, 
One of his daily followers, met the man, 
Who, knowing him to be a parator, 65 

Assaults him first and after, in contempt 
Of vs and our proceedings, makes him cate 
The written processe, parchment, scale and all: 
Whereby his maister neither was brought 

Nor we but scornd for our authoritie. 70 

Har. When was this done? 

Bish. At sixe a clocke this morning. 

Har. And when came you to court? 

Cob. Last night, my Lord. 74 

Har. By this it seemes, he is not guilty of it, ' 
And you haue done him wrong t' accuse him so. 

Bish. But it was done, my lord, by his 

Or else his man durst ne're haue bin so bold. 

Har. Or else you durst be bold to inter 

And fill our eares with friuolous complaints. 80 
Is this the duetie you do beare to vs? 
Was't not sufficient we did passe our word 
To send for him, but you, misdoubting it, 
Or which is worse intending to forestall 
Our regall power, must likewise summon him? 
This sauours of Ambition, not of zeale, 6 
And rather proues you malice his estate, 
Than any way that he offends the law. 
Go to, we like it not; and he your officer, 
That was imployde so much amisse herein, 90 
Had his desert for being insolent. 

Enter Huntington. 

So, Cobham, when you please you may depart. 
Cob. I humbly bid farewell vnto my liege. 

Har. Farewell. What's the newes by Hunt- 

ington ? 

Hunt. Sir Roger Acton and a crue, my Lord, , 
Of bold seditious rebels are in Armes, 96 , 

Intending reformation of Religion. 
And with their Army they intend to pitch 
In Ficket field, vnlesse they be repulst. 

Har. So nere our presence? Dare they be so 

bold? ioo 

And will prowd warre, and eager thirst of 


Whom we had thought to entertaine farre off, 
Presse forth vpon vs in our natiue boundes? 
Must wee be forc't to hansell our sharp blades 
In England here, which we prepar'd for France? 
Well, a Gods name be it! What's their num 
ber, say, 
Or who's the chief e commander of this rowt? 

Hunt. Their number is not knowne, as yet, 

my Lord, 

But tis reported Sir lohn Old -castle 
Is the chief e man on whom they do depend, no 
Har. How, the Lord Cobham? 
Hunt. Yes, my gracious Lord. 
Bish. I could haue told your maiestie as 


Before he went, but that I saw your Grace 
Was too much blinded by his flaterie. 1 1 5 
Suf. Send poast, my Lord, to fetch him 

backe againe. 
But. Traitor vnto his country, how he 


And seemde as innocent as Truth it self el 
Har. I cannot thinke it yet he would te 


But if he be, no matter; let him go. 120 

Weele meet both him and them vnto their wo. 

Exeunt (ell but Eishop^. 

Bish. This falls out well, and at the last I 

To see this heretike die in a rope. 

(ACT m. 
SCENE I. An avenue leading to lord Cobham' s 

house in Kent.} 
Enter Earle of Cambridge, Lord Scroope, Cray, 

and Chartres the French factor. 
Scroop. Once more, my Lord of Cambridge, 

make rehersal, 

How you do stand intiteled to the Crowne. 
The deeper shall we print it in our mindes, 
And euery man the better be resolu'de, 
When he perceiues his quarrell to be iust. s 
Com. Then thus, Lord Scroope, sir Thomas 

Gray, & you, 

Mounsieur de Chartres, agentfor the French: 
This Lionel!, Duke of Clarence, as I said, 
Third sonne of Edward (Englands King) (he 

third, 9 

Had issue Phillip, his sole daughter and heyre; 
Which Phillip afterward was giuenin marriage 
To Edmund Mortimer, the Earle of March, 
And by him had a son cald Roger Mortimer; 
Which Roger, likewise, had of his discent 
Edmund, Roger, Anne, and Elianor 15 
Two daughters and two sonnes but those 


Dide without issue. Anne, that did suruiue, 
And now was left her fathers onely heyre, 
My fortune was to marry, being too 
By my grandfather of King Edwardes line: 20 

78 ne're] not Q ?. < /< . 70 durst not be -V 
90 <did 91 trttnuponed Q?, etc. 


121 S. D. Exeunt follows ntxt line in Ql : fit end cf 
KI-UK 02, efc. Act IIP. dr. utM. M 10 but of 

those, three Ff, efc. 19 My] By Q?, Ff 



So of his sirname, I am calde, you know, 
Richard Plantagenet. My father was 
Edward, the Duke of Yorke, and son and heyre 
To Edmund Langley, Edward the third's fifth 


Scroop So that it seemes your claime comes 

by your wife, 25 

As lawfull heyre to Roger Mortimer, 

The son of Edmund, which did marry Phillip, 

Daughter and heyre to Lyonell, Duke of 

Cam. True, for this Harry and his father 


Harry the first, as plainely doth appeare, 3 
Are false intruders and vsurp the Crowne. 
For when yong Richard was at Pomfret slaine, 
In him the title of prince Edward dide, 
That was the eldest of king Edwards sonnes: 
William, of Hatfield, and their second brother, 
Death in his nonage had before bereft: 30 
So that my wife, deriu'd from Lionell, 
Third sonne vnto king Edward, ought proceede, 
And take possession of the Diademe 
Before this Harry, or his father king, 40 

Who fetcht their title but from Lancaster, 
Forth of that royall line. And being thus, 
What reason ist but she should haue her right? 
Seroope I am resolu'de our enterprise is 


Gray Harry shall die, or else resigne his 

crowne. 45 

Chart. Performe but that, and Charles, the 

king of France, 

Shall ayde you, lordes, not onely with his men, 

But send you money to maintaine your warres. 

Fiue hundred thousand crowues he bade me 

proffer, 49 

If you can stop but Harries voyage for France. 

Scrope We neuer had a fitter time than now, 

The realme in such diuision as it is. 

Camb. Besides, you must perswade ye, 

there is due 
Vengeance for Richards murder, which, 


It be deferrde, yet will it fall at last, 55 

And now as likely as another time. 
Sinne hath had many yeeres to ripen in, 
And now the haruest cannot be farre off, 
Wherein the weedes of vsurpation 
Are to be cropt, and cast into the fire. 60 

Seroope No more, earle Cambridge; here I 

plight my faith, 
To set vp thee and thy renowned wife. 

Gray Gray will performe the same, as he is 

24 fifthl first 
the fourth 31 

Ff: con: Percy in M 
53 yej you Q2, tic. 

30 Harry 

Chart. And to assist ye, as I said before, 
Charters doth gage the honor of his king. 65 
Seroope We lacke but now Lord Cobhams 


And then our plot were absolute indeede. 
Camb. Doubt not of him, my lord; his life's 


By th'incensed Cleargy, and of late, 
Brought in displeasure with the king, assures 
He may be quickly wonne vnto our faction. 71 
Who hath the articles were drawne at large 
Of our whole purpose? 

Gray That haue I, my Lord. 
Camb. We should not now be farre off from 
his house; 75 

Our serious conference hath beguild the way. 
See where his castle stands. Giue me the 


When we are come vnto the speech of him, 
Because we will not stand to make recount, 
Of that which hath beene saide, here he shall 
reade [enter Cob. 

Our mindes at large, and what we craue of 

Seroope A ready way. Here comes the man 

Booted and spurrd; it seemes he hath beene 


Camb. Well met, lord Cobham. 
Cobh. My lord of Cambridge? 85 

Your honor is most welcome into Kent, 
And all the rest of this faire company. 
I am new come from London, gentle Lordes: 
But will ye not take Cowling for your host, 
And see what entertainement it affordes? 90 
Camb. We were intended to haue beene 

your guests: 

But now this lucky meeting shall suffise 
To end our businesse, and deferre that kind- 

Cobh. Businesse, my lord ? what businesse 

should you haue 

But to be mary? We haue no delicates, 95 
But this He promise you: a peece of venison, 
A cup of wine, and so forth hunters fare; 
And if you please, weele strike the stagge our 


Shall fill our dishes with his wel-fed flesh. 
Seroope That is, indeede, the thing we all 
desire. 100 

Cobh. My lordes and you shall haue your 

choice with me. 
Camb. Nay, but the stagge which we desire 

to strike 

Liues not in Cowling: if you will consent, 
And goe with vs, weele bring you to a forrest, 

68 life 31 94-5 should Let you to be Q ;', itc, 


ACT III, Sc. I. 

Where runnes a lusty hierd; amongst the 



There is a stagge superior to the rest, 
A stately beast that, when his fellows runne, 
He leades the race, and beates the sullen earth, 
As though he scornd it, with his trampling 


Aloft he beares bis head, and with his breast, 
Like a huge bulwarke, counter -checkes the 
wind: m 

And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth 
His prowd ambitious necke, as if he meant 
To wound the firmament with forked homes. 
Cobh. Tis pitty such a goodly beast should 
die. us 

Camb. Not so, sir lohn, for he is tyrannous, 
And gores the other deere, and will not keep 
Within the limites are appointed him. 
Of late hees broke into a seueral, 119 

Which doth belong to me. and there he spoiles 
Both corne and pasture. Twojof his wilde race, 
Alike for stealth and couetous incroatching, 
Already are remou'd; if he were dead, 
I should not onely be secure from hurt, 
But with his body make a royall feast. 125 
Scroope How say you, then; will you first 

hunt with vs? 
Cobh. Faith, Lords, I like the pastime; 

where's the place? 
Camb. Peotse this writing; it will shew you 

And what occasion we haue for the sport. 

[he reades 

Cobh. Call ye this hunting, my lords? Is 
this the stag 130 

You faine would chase Harry our dread king? 
So we may make a banquet for the diuell, 
And in the steedo of wholsome meate, prepare 
A dish of poison to confound our selues. 
Camb. Why so, lord Cobharn? See you not 
our claime? 135 

And how imperiously he holdes the crowne? 
Scroope Besides, you know your selfe is in 


Held as a recreant, and pursude to death. 
This will defend you from your enemies, 139 
And stablish your religion through the land. 
Cobh. Notorious treason! yet I will conceale 


My secret thoughts, to sound the depth of it. 
My lord of Cambridge, I doe see your claime, 
And what good may redound vnto the land 
By prosecuting of this enterprise. 145 

But where are men? where's power an'd furni 
To order such an action? We are weake; 

105 among QP, etc, 131 our most dread )1 \ 178-81 Frost Q?, 


Harry, you know's a mighty potentate. 

Camb. Tut, we are strong enough: you are 


And many will be glad to follow you; 150 
We are the like, and some will follow vs. 
Besides, there is hope from France: heres an 


That promiseth both men and money too. 
The commons likewise (as we heare) pretend 
A sodaine tumult; we wil ioyne with them. 1 55 
Cobh. Some likelihoode, I must confesse, to 


But how shall I beleeue this is plaine truth? 
You are, my lords, such men as liue in Court, 
And highly haue beenc fauour'd of the king, 
Especially lord Scroope, whomc oftentimes 1 60 
He maketh choice of for his bedfellow; 
And you, lord Gray, are of his priuy councell: 
Is not this a traine to intrappc my life? 

Camb. Then perish may my soule! What, 

thinke you so? 

Scroope Weele sweare to you. 1 65 

Gray Or take the sacrament. 
Cobh. Nay, you are noble men, and I 


As you are honorable by birth and bloud, 
So you will be in heart, in thought, in word. 
I craue no other testimony but this: 170 

That you would all subscribe, and set your 


Vnto this writing which you gaue to me. 
Camb. With all our hearts. Who hath any 

pen and inke? 
Scroope My pocket should haue one: yea, 

heere it is. 

Camb. Giue it me, lord Scroope. There is 
my name. i?5 

Scroope And there is my name. 
Gray And mine. 
Cobh. Sir, let me craue, 
That you would likewise write your name with 


For confirmation of your maisters word, 1 80 
The king of Fraunce. 

Char. That will I, noble Lord. 
Cobh. So now this action is well knit to 
And I am for you. Where's our meeting, 


Camb. Here, if you please, the tenth of luly 
next. 185 

Cobh. In Kent? agreed: now let vs in to 

I hope your honors will not away to night. 

151 like Fl: light Qq 
traine laide to 02, etc. 

157 is] in <?2, etc. 
174 yea] ^ 



Camb. Yes, presently; for I haue farre to 


About soliciting of other friends. 
Scroope And we would not be absent from 
the court, J 9 

Lest thereby grow suspition in the king. 
Cobh. Yet taste a cup of wine before ye go. 
Camb. Not now, my lord, we thanke you: 
so farewell. (Exeunt all but Cobham.) 
Cob. Farewell, my noble lordes. My noble 


My noble villaines, base conspirators. 1 95 
How can they looke his Highnesse in the face, 
Whome they so closly study to betray? 
But ile not sleepe vntill I make it knowne. 
This head shall not be burdned with such 


Nor in this heart will I conceale a deede 200 
Of such impietie against my king. 
Madam, how now? 

Enter Harpoole and the rest. 

Lady Cobh. You are welcome home, my Lord. 
Why seeme ye so disquiet in your lookes? 
What hath befalne you that disquiets your 
minde? 205 

Lady Po. Bad newes, I am afraide, touch 
ing my husband. 

Cobh. Madam, not so: there is your hus 
bands pardon. 

Long may ye liue, each ioy vnto the other. 
Powesse So great a kindnesse as I knowe 

not howe 

To make reply; my sense is quite confounded. 

Cobh. Let that alone: and madam, stay me 

not, 211 

For I must backe vnto the court againe 

With all the speede I can. Harpoole, my horse. 

Lady Cob. So soone, my Lord? what, will 

you ride all night? 

Cobham All night or day; it must be so, 

sweete wife. 215 

Vrge me not why or what my businesse is, 

But get you in. Lord Powesse, beare with me, 

And madam, thinke your welcome nere the 


My house is at your vse. Harpoole, away. 

Harp. Shall I attend your lordship to the 

court? 220 

Cobh. Yea, sir; your gelding! mount you 

presently. exe(unf). 

Lady Cobh. I prythee, Harpoole, looke vnto 

thy Lord. 
I do not like this sodaine posting backe. 

193 S. D. add. E : Exit Q?, Ff 204 ye] you 31 
unquiet Ff, etc. 205 disturbe's your minde 02. etc. 
209-10 Prose m Qq, Ff : con: 31 210 make om. Ff 

Powes Some earnest businesse is a foote 


Whate're it be, pray God be his good guide. 225 
Lady Po. Amen! that hath so highly vs 

Lady Co. Come, madam, and my lord, weele 

hope the best; 

You shall not into Wales till he returne. 
Powesse Though great occasion be we 

should departe, 

Yet madam will we stay to be resolude 230 
Of this vnlookt for, doubtful accident. [Exeunt. 

(SCENE II. A road near Highgate.} 
Enter Murley and his men, prepared in some 
filthy order for warre. 

Murly. Come, my hearts of flint, modestly, 
decently, soberly, and handsomly, no man 
afore his Leader; follow your master, your 
Captaine, your Knight that shal be, for the 
honor of Meale-men, Millers, and Mault-men. 
Dunne is the mowse. Dicke and Tom, for the 
credite of Dunstable, ding downe the enemie 
to morrow; ye shall not come into the field like 
beggars. Where be Leonard and Laurence, 
my two loaders? Lord haue mercie vpon vs, 
what a world is this? I would giue a couple of 
shillings for a dozen of good fethers for ye, 
and forty pence for as many skarffes to set ye 
out withaU. Frost and snow! a man has no 
heart to fight till he be braue. 1 5 

Dicke Master, I hope we be no babes. For 
our manhood, our bucklers and our towne 
foote-balls can beare witnesse: and this lite 
parrell we haue shall off, and weel fight naked 
afore we runne away. 20 

Tom. Nay, I am of Laurence mind for that, 
for he meanes to leaue his life behind him; he 
and Leonard, your two loaders, are making 
their wills because they haue wiues. Now we 
Bachellers bid our friends scramble for our 
goods if we die: but, master, pray ye, let me 
ride vpon Cutte. 27 

Murly Meale and salt, wheat and mault, 
fire and tow, frost and snow! why, Tom, thou 
shalt. Let me see: here are you, William and 
George are with my cart, and Robin and Hodge 
holding my owne two horses; proper men, 
handsom men, tall men, true men. 33 

Dicke But, master, master, me thinkes you 
are a mad man to hazard your owne person 
and a cart load of money too. 

229-31 Prose Qq, Ff: con: K Scene II. etc. ndJ. M 
16 I hope om. Q2, etc. be] are Q S. etc. 16-17 For 
. . bucklers and om. Q S. <tc. 18 lite] little Q i>, dc. 
20 before Q2, etc. 24 Now] and 31 35 a mad 

man] mad Ff. etc. 

! It 


Tom. Yea, and, maister, theres a worse 
matter in't. If it be as I heard say, we go to 
fight against all the learned Bishops, that 
should giue vs their blessing; and if they curse 
vs, we shall speede nere the better. 41 

Dicke Nay, fair lady, some say the King 
takes their part; and, master, dare you fight 
against the King? 

Murly Fie, paltry, paltry! in and out, to 
and fro, vpon occasion; if the King be so vn- 
wise to come there, weele fight with him too. 

Tom. What, if ye should kill the King? 

Mur. Then weele make another. 49 

Dicke Is that all? do ye not speake treason? 

Mur. If we do, who dare trippe vs? we come 
to fight for our conscience, and for honor. 
Little know you what is in my bosome; looke 
here, madde knaues, a paire of guilt spurres. 

Tom. A paire of golden spurres? Why do 
you not put them on your heeles? Your 
bosome's no place for spurres. 57 

Mur. Bee't more or lesse vpon occasion, 
Lord haue mercy (vpon) vs, Tom, th'art a 
foole, and thou speakest treason to knight 
hood. Dare any weare golden or siluer spurs 
til he be a knight? No, I shall be knighted to 
morrow, and then they shall on. Sirs, was it 
euer read in the church booke of Dunstable, 
that euer mault man was made knight? 65 

Tom. No, but you are more: you are meal- 
man, maultman, miller, corne -master and all. 

Dicke Yea, and halfe a brewer too, and the 
diuell and all for wealth. You bring more 
money with you, than all the rest. 70 

Mur. The more's my honor. I shal be a 
knight to morowl Let me spose my men: 
Tom vpon cutte, Dicke vpon hobbe, Hodge 
vpon Ball, Raph vpon Sorell, and Robin vpon 
the forehorse. 75 

Enter Acton, Bourne, and Beuerley. 

Tom. Stand, who comes there? 

Act. Al friends, good fellow. 

Murl. Friends and fellowes, indeede, sir 

Act. Why, thus you shew your selfe a Gen 
tleman, 80 
To keepe your day, and come so well preparde. 
Your cart stands yonder, guarded by your men, 
Who tell me it is loaden well with coine. 
What summe is there? 84 

Mur. Ten thousand pound, sir Roger; and 
modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely, 
see what I haue here against I be knighted. 

Act. Gilt spurs? tis well. 

48 yel you M 50 ye] you M 59 mercy vs 7 : 
corr.'QS' Glgold^?, etc. 

Mur. But where's our armie, sir? 

Act. Disperst in sundry villages about: 90 
Some here with vs in Hygate, some at Finchley, 
Totnam, Enfield, Edmunton, Newington, 
Islington, Hogsdon, Pancredge, Kenzington; 
Some neerer Thames, Ratclifte, Blackwall and 


But our chiefe strength must be the Londoners, 
Which, ere the Sunne to morrow shine, 96 
Will be nere fiftie thousand in the field. 

Mur. Mary, God dild ye, daintie my deerel 
but vpon occasion, sir Roger Acton, doth not 
the King know of it, and gather his power 
against vs? 101 

Act. No, hee's secure at Eltham. 

Mur. What do the Cleargie? 

Act. Feare extreamly, yet prepare no force. 

Mur. In and out, to and fro, Bullie my 

boikin, we shall carry the world afore vs! I 

! vow by my worshippe, when I am knighted, 

! weele take the King napping, if he stand on 

their part. 109 

Act. This night we few in Higate will repose. 
With the first cocke weele rise and arme our 


To be in Ficket fielde by breake of day, 
And there expect our General!. 

Mur. Sir lohn Old-castle? what if he come 
not? 115 

Bourne Yet our action stands. 
Sir Roger Acton may supply his place. 

Mur. True, M(aister) Bourne, but who shall 
> make me knight? 

Beuer. He that hath power to be our 
Generall. 120 

Act. Talke not of trifles; come, let's away. 
Our friends of London long till it be day. 


(SCENE in. A high road in Kent.} 
Enter sir John of Wrootham and Dott. 

Doll. By my troth, thou art as ielous a man 
as Hues. 

Priest Canst thou blame me, Doll? thou art 
my lands, my goods, my iewels, my wealth, 
my purse. None walks within xl. miles of 
London, but a plies thee as truely as the parish 
does the poore mans boxe. 7 

Doll. I am as true to thee as the stone is in 
the wal; and thou knowest well enough, sir 
lohn, I was in as good doing, when I came to 
thee, as any wench neede to be; and therefore 

89 But om. Q2, etc. 104 They fear M 114 Sir 
lohn Oldcastle add. in Ar.ton'xxrxcrli, M Scene III. 
(tc. odd. M S. li. IJittr Priest and Q2, Ff 9-10 
sir lohn om. QS, etc. 



thou hast tried me, that thou hast: by Gods 
body, I wil not bs kept as I haue bin, that I 
will not. r 4 

Priest Doll, if this blade holde, theres not 
a pedler walkes with a pack, but thou shalt as 
boldly chuse of his wares, as with thy ready 
mony in a Marchants shop. Weele haue as 
good siluer as the King coynes any. 

Doll What, is al the gold spent you tooke 
the last day from the Courtier? 21 

Priest Tis gone, Doll, tis flown; merely 
come, merely gon: he comes a horse backe 
that must pay for all. Weelo haue aa good 
meate as mony can get, and as good gownes 
as can be bought for gold. Be mery, wench, 
the mault-man comes on munday. 27 

Doll You might haue left me at Cobham, 
vntil you had bin better prouided for. 

Priest. No, sweet Dol, no; I do not like that. 
Yond old ruffian is not for the priest: I do not 
like a new cleark should come in the old bel- 
frie. 33 

Doll Ah, thou art a mad priest, yfaith. 

Priest Come, Doll; He see thee safe at some 
alehouse here at Cray, and the next sheepe that 
comes shall leaue his fleece. 


(SCENE IV. Blackheath.) 

Enter the King, Suffolke and Butler. 
King (in great hast). My lord of Suffolk, 

poste away for life, 

And let our forces of such horse and foote, 
As can be gathered vp by any meanes, 
Make speedy randeuow in Tuttle fields. 
It must be done this euening, my Lord; 5 
This night the rebells meane to draw to head 
Neere Islington, which if your speede preuent 


If once they should vnite their seuerall forces, 
Their power is almost thought inuincible. 
Away, my Lord; I will be with you soone. 10 
Suf. I go, my Soueraigne, with all happie 

speede. [exrt. 

King Make haste, my lord of Suffolke, as 

you loue vs. 

Butler, poste you to London with all speede; 
Commaund the Maior and shrieues, on their 


The cittie gates be presently shut vp 15 

And guarded with a strong sufficient watch, 
And not a man be suffered to passe 
Without a speciall warrant from our selfe. 
Command the Posterne by the Tower be kept, 

12-13 by Gods body] and Q 2, etc. 30 I like not 
that 3, etc. 34 Ah om. Q ?, etc. 37 leaue be 
hind his Q3, etc. Scene IV. etc. add. Jl 

And proclamation, on the paine of death, 20 
That not a citizen stirre from his doores, 
Except such as the Maior and Shrieues shall 

For their owne guarde and safety of their 


Butler, away; haue care vnto my charge. 
But. I goe, my Soueraigne. 25 

King Butler! 
But. My Lord. 

King Goe downe by Greenewich, and com 
mand a boate 

At the Friers bridge attend my comming downe. 
But. I will, my Lord. [exit. 

King It's time, I thinke, to looke vnto 
rebellion, 31 

When Acton doth expect vnto his ayd 
No lesse then fiftie thousand Londoners. 
Well, He to Westminster in this disguise, 
To heare what newes is stirring in these 
brawles. 35 

Enter sir lohn (and Dolt}. 
Sir lohn Stand, true-man! saies a thief e. 
King Stand, thief e! saies a true man. How 
if a thief e? 

Sir lohn Stand, thief e, too. 39 

King Then, thief e or true -man, I see I must 

stand. I see, how soeuer the world wagges, 

the trade of theeuing yet will neuer downe. 

What art thou? 

sir lohn A good fellow. 44 

King So am I too. I see thou dost know 

sir lohn. If thou be a good fellow, play the 
good fellowes part: deliuer thy purse without 
more adoe. 

King I haue no mony. 50 

sir lohn I must make you find some before 

we part. If you haue no mony, you shal haue 

ware: as many sound drie blows as your skin 

can carrie. 

King Is that the plaine truth? 55 

sir lohn Sirra, no more adoe; come, come, 
giue me the mony you haue. Dispatch, I can 
not stand all day. 

King. Wei, if thou wilt needs haue it, there 
tis: iust the prouerb, one thief e robs another. 
Where the diuel are all my old theeues, that 
were wont to keepe this walke? Falstaffe, the 
villaine, is so fat, he cannot get on's horse, but 
me thinkes Poines and Peto should be stirring 
here abouts. 65 

S. D. Enter Priest Q 8, Ff and Doll add. M 
40 true-man, I must 02, etc. 53 drie om. 

Q2, etc. 61-2 that . . walke om. 3, etc. 62 tlu-J 
that Q2, etc. 



ACT IV, Sc. I. 

sir lohn How much is there on't, of thy 

King A hundred pound in Angels, on my 


The time has beene I would haue done as much 

For thee, if thou hadst past this way, as I haue 

now. 7 

sir lohn Sirra, what art thou? thou seem'st 
a gentleman. 

King I am no lesse; yet a poore one now, 
for thou hast all my mony. 

sir lohn From whence cam'st thou? 75 

King From the court at E It ham. 

sir lohn Art thou one of the Kings seruants? 

King Yes, that I am, and one of his cham 
ber. 79 

sir lohn I am glad thou art no worse; thou 
maist the better spare thy mony: & thinks t 
thou thou mightst get a poor thief e his pardon, 
if he should haue neede. 

haue bin a King; he was so braue a thiefe. 
But, sirra, wilt remember my pardon if neede 
be? 120 

King Yes, faith, will I. 

sir lohn Wilt thou? well then, because thou 
shalt go safe for thou mayest hap (being so 
earely) be met with againe before thou come 
to Southwarke if any man, when he should 
bid thee good morrow, bid thee stand, say thou 
but sir lohn, and he will let thee passe. 127 

King Is that the word? well, then, let me 

sir lohn Nay, sirra, because I thinke indeede 
I shall haue some occasion to vse thee, & as 
thou comst oft this way, I may light on thee 
another time not knowing thee, here! ile 
breake this Angell. Take thou halfe of it; this 
is a token betwixt thee and me. 135 

King. God haue mercy; farewell. [exit. 

sir lohn my fine golden slaues! heres for 

King. Yes, that I can. 84 j thee, wench, yfaith. Now, Dol, we wil reuel 

sir John Wilt thou do so much for me, when ! in our bouer! this is a tyth pigge of my vica- 
I shall haue occasion? j ridge. God haue mercy, neighbour Shooters 

King Yes, faith will I, so it be for no hill; you paid your tyth honestly. Wei, I 


sir John Nay, I am a pittifull thiefe; all the 
hurt I do a man, I take but his purse; He kill 
no man. 91 

King Then, of my word, Ile do it. 

sir John Giue me thy hand of the same. 

King There tis. 94 

sir John Me thinks the King should be 
good to theeues, because he has bin a thiefe 
himselfe, though I thinke now he be turned 
true -man. 

King Faith, I haue heard indeed he has had 
an il name that way in his youth; but how 
canst thou tell he has beene a thiefe? 101 

sir John How? Because he once robde me 
before I fell to the trade my selfe; when that 
foule villainous guts, that led him to all that 
rogery, was in's company there, that Falstaffe. 

King (aside). Well, if he did rob thee then, 
thou art but euen with him now, Ile be sworne. 
Thou knowest not the king now, I thinke, if 
thou sawest him? 109 

sir John Not I, yfaith. 

King (aside). So it should seeme. 

heare there is a company of rebelles vp against 
the King, got together in Ficket field neere 
Holborne, and as it is thought here in Kent, 
the King will be there to night in's owne per 
son; well, ile to the Kings camp, and it shall 
go hard, but, if there be any doings, lie make 
some good boote amongst them. [exit. 

SCENE I. A field near London. King Henry's 

Enter King Henry, Suffolke, Huntington, 

and two with lights. 
K. Hen. My Lords of Suffolke and of Hun- 


Who skouts it now? or who stands Sentinells? 
What men of worth? what Lords do walke the 


Suff. May it please your Highnesse 
K. Hen. Peace, no more of that. 5 

The King's asleepe; wake not his maiestie 
With termes nor titles; hee's at rest in bed. 

sir John Well, if old King Henry had liu'de, Kings do not vse to watch themselues; they 

this King that is now had made theeuing the 

best trade in England. 

King Why so? us 

sir John Because he was the chiefe warden 

of our company. It's pittie that ere he should 

70 Ttco lines M, dii: nflir I 92 of] on M 93 

ofl on M 97 although Ff, dc. 101 tell that he 
^ S, etc. 1 1 2 uldc King Harry Q 2, etc. 


And let rebellion and conspiracie 
Reuel and hauocke in the common wealth. 
Is London lookt vnto? XI 

128 well om. Ff, etc. 136 God a mercy QS, etc. 

139 bower conj. M : beuer Qq 140 God a mercy QS, 
etc. 141 paid] ha paide ^ 2, etc. 148 boote] booty 
conj. ^ Act IV. tic. udd. M 



Hunt. It is, my Lord: 
Your noble Vncla Exceter is there, 
Your brother Gloucester and my Lord of War- 


Who, with the maior and the Aldermen, 1 5 
Do guard the gates, and keepe good rule 


The Earle of Cambridge and sir Thomas Gray 
Do walke the Round; Lori Scroope and 

Butler skout. 

So, t iouh it please your maiestie to iest, 
Werj you in bed, well might you take your 

rest. 20 

K. Hen. I thank ye, Lords, but you do know 

of old, 

That I haue bin a perfect night-walker. 
London, you say, is safely lookt vnto 

Har. Master Parson? We play nothing but 

sir lohn. And, fellow, I tel thee that the 
priest hath gold. Gold? sbloud, ye are but 
beggerly souldiers to me. I thinke I haue more 
gold than all you three. 5 7 

Hunt. It may be so, but we beleeue it 

Har. Set, priest, set. I passe for all that 

sir lohn Ye passe, indeede. 

Harry Priest, hast thou any more ? 61 

sir lohn Zounds, what a question's that? 
I tell thee I haue more then all you three. 
At these ten Angells! 

Harry. I wonder how thou comst by all 
this gold; 65 

Alas, poore rebels, there your ayd must faile How many benefices hast thou, priest? 

And the Lord Cobham, sir lohn Old-castle, 25 
Hee's quiet in Kent. Acton, ye are deceiu'd; 
Reckon againe, you count without your host; 
To morrow you shall giue account to vs. 

sir lohn Yfaith, but one. Dost wonder how 
I come by gold? I wonder rather how poore 
souldiers should haue gold; for He tell thee, 
good fellow: we haue euery day tythes, offer- 

Til when, my friends, this long cold winters ings, christnings, weddings, burialls; and you 


How can we spend? King Harry is a sleeps 
And al his Lords, these garments tel vs so; 31 
Al friends at footebal, fellowea all in field, 
Harry, and Dicke, and George. Bring vs a 


poore snakes come seldome to a bootie. He 
speake a prowd word: I haue but one par 
sonage, Wrootham; tia better than the Bishopp- 
rick of Rochester. Theres nere a hill, heath, 
nor downe in all Kent, but tis in my parish: 
Barrham downe, Chobham downe, Gads hill, 

Giue vs square dice, weele keepc this court of ; Wrootham hill, Blacke heath, Cockes heath, 


For al good fellowes companies that como. 35 
Wheres that mad priest ye told me was in 


To fight, as well as pray, if neede required? 
Suff. Hees in the Camp, and if he know of 


I vndertake he would not be long hence. 
Har. Trippe, Dicke; Trippe, George. 40 
[they trjppe. 

Hunt. I must haue the dice. 
What do we play at? [the(y] play al dice. 

Suff. Passage, if ye please. 
Hunt. Set round then: so; at all. 
Har. George, you are out. 45 

Giue me the dice. I passe for twentie pound. 
Heres to our luckie passage into France. 
Hunt. Harry, you passe indeede, for you 

sweepe all. 

Suff. A signe king Harry shal sweep al in 

ent(er) sir lohn. 

sir lohn Edge ye, good fellowes; take a 
iresh gamster in. s , 

49 5. D. Enter Priest 

Birchen wood, all pay me tythe. Gold, quoth 
a? ye passe not for that. 80 

Suff. Harry, ye are out; now, parson, shake 
the dice. 

sir lohn. Set, set; He couer ye at al. A 
plague on't, I am out: the diuc-11, and dice, and 
a wench, who will trust them? 85 

Suff. Saist thou so, priest? Set faire; at all 
for once. 

Har. Out, sir; pay all. 

sir lohn Sbloud, pay me angel gold. 
He none of your crackt French crownes nor 
pistolets. 90 

Pay me faire angel gold, as I pay you. 

Har. No crackt french crownes? I hope to 
see more crackt french crownes ere long. 

sir lohn Thou meanest of French mens 
crownes, when the King is in France. 95 

Hunt. Set round, at all. 

sir lohn Pay all: this is some lucke. 

Har. Giue me the dice, tis I must shread the 

At all, sir lohn. 

55 sbloud] what ?. dr. 61 thou OH?. Q i 5 , (if- 

62 Zounds] more Q >. dr. 67 Faith Q ?. ftc. 

ye] you .V S) : bloud] Sir Q ?, itc. 
shrieve con;. 



sir lohn The diuell and all is yours. At 
that! Sdeath, what casting is this? 101 

Suff. Well throwne, Harry, yfaith. 

Har. lie cast better yet. 

sir lohn Then lie be hangd. Sirra, hast 
thou not giuen thy soule to the diuell for 
casting? 106 

Har, I passe for all. 

sir lohn Thou passest all that ere I playde 

Sirra, dost thou not cogge, nor foist, nor slurre? 

Har. Set, parson, set; the dice die in my 

hand: no 

When parson, when? what, can ye finde no 

Alreadie drie? wast you bragd of your store? 

sir lohn Alls gone but that. 

Hunt. What? halfe a broken angell? 

sir lohn Why sir, tis gold. 

Har. Yea, and lie couer it. 

Har. Agreede! I charge ye do not boudge 

a foot. 

Sir lohn, haue at ye. 
sir John Souldier, ware your skonce. 

[Here, as they are ready to strike, enter 
Butler and drawes his weapon and 
steps betwixt them. 

But. Hold, villaines, hold I my Lords, what 
do you meane, 150 

To see a traitor draw against the King? 
sir lohn The King! Gods wil, I am in a 

proper pickle. 
Har. Butler, what newes? why dost thou 

trouble vs? 
But. Please it your Highnesse, it is breake 

of day, 

And as I skouted neere to Islington, 155 

The gray ey'd morning gaue me glimmering 
115 ! Of armed men comming downe Hygate hill, 
Who by their course are coasting hither ward. 

sir lohn. The diuell do yc good on't, I am Har. Let vs withdraw, my Lords. Prepare 
blinde, yee haue blowne me vp. our Iroopes 

Har. Nay, tarry, priest; ye shall not leaue To charge the rebels, if there be such cause. 

vs yet. 

Do not these peeces fit each other well? 
sir lohn What if they do? 
Har. Thereby beginnes a tale: 
There was a thief e, in face much like sir lohn 
But t'was not hee, that thiefe was all in 

Met me last day at Blacke Heath, neere the 

parke, 1 25 

With him a woman. I was al alone 
And weaponlesse, my boy had al my tooles, 
And was before prouiding me a boate. 
Short tale to make, sir lohn the thiefe, I 


For this lewd priest, this diuellish hypocrite, 
1 20 | That is a thiefe, a gamster, and what not, 1 62 
Let him be hang'd vp for example sake. 

sir lohn Not so my gracious soueraigne. 
I confesse I am a frayle man, flesh and bloud 
as other are: but, set my imperfections aside, 
by this light, ye haue not a taller man, nor a 
truer subiect to the Crowne and State, than sir 
lohn of Wrootham. 

Har. Wil a true subiect robbe his King? 1 70 
sir lohn Alas, twas ignorance and want, 

my gracious liege. 

Har. Twas want of grace. Why, you 
should be as salt 

Tooke a iust hundreth pound in gold from me. 
I storm'd at it, and swore to be reueng'de 13' 
If ere we met. He, like a lusty thiefe, 
Brake with his teeth this Angel iust in two, 
To be a token at our meeting next, 
Prouided I should charge no Officer 135 

To apprehend him, but at weapons point 
Recouer that and what he had beside. 
Well met, sir lohn; betake ye to your tooles 
By torch light, for, master parson, you are he 

To season others with good document, 
Your liues as lampes to giue the people light, 
As shepheards, not as wolues to spoile the 
flock. 175 

Go hang him, Butler. 

But. Didst thou not rob me? 

sir lohn I must confesse I saw some of 
your gold. But, my dread Lord, I am in no 
humor for death; therefore, saue my life. God 
will that sinners liue; do not you cause me die. 

That had my gold. 1 40 j Once in their liues the best may goe astray, and 

sir lohn Zounds, I won't in play, in faire if the world say true, your selfe (my liege) haue 
square play, of the keeper of Eltham parke; 
and that I will maintain e with this poore whin- 

bin a thiefe. 

Har. I confesse I haue, 185 

yard, be you two honest men to stand and But I repent and haue reclaimd my selfe. 
looke vpon's, and let's alone, and take neither , 

tnam is Q2, etc. 
rinttx one Hnz, 

117 do] giue QS, clc. 118 yce] you Q?, etc. 

ll!i yc] you Ff, etc. 138 vc] you M 145 take out. 
Ff, Jt, Pope 


150 villaine OS, clc. what d'ye Q S, Ff 154 

M6 Please your Maiesty 03, etc. 166 others N J07 
hv this light OHI. Q 2, d<: ye] you 31 169 Wru- 

177 Tliitt 8)Kcclt added to the pn- 
180 therefore .. life cm. Q2, etc, 
181 wills 31 me to dye (J ?, d<:. 


sir lohn So will I do, if you will giue me 

Ear. Wilt thou? My lords, will you be his 

Hunt. That when he robs agame, he shall 

be hang'd. 

sir lohn laskenomore. T 9 

Har. And we will grant thee that. 
Liue and repent, and proue an honest man, 
Which when I heare, and safe returne from 


He giue thee liuing: till when take thy gold ; 
But spend it better then at cards or wine, 1 95 
For better vertues fit that coate of thine. 

sir lohn Viuat Rex & currat lex! My liege, 
if ye haue cause of battell, ye shal see sir lohn 
of Wrootham bestirre himself in your quarrel. 


(SCENE II. A field of Battle near London.} 
After an alarum enter Harry, Suffolk, Hunting - 

ton, sir lohn, bringing forth Acton, Beuerly, 

and Murley prisoners. 
Har. Bring in those traitors, whose aspiring 


Thought to haue triumpht in our ouerthrow. 
But now ye see, base villaines, what successe 
Attends ill actions wrongfully attempted. 
Sir Roger Acton, thou retainst the name 5 
Of knight, and shouldst be more discreetly 


Than ioyne with peasants: gentry is diuine, 
But thou hast made it more then popular. 
Act. Pardon, my Lord; my conscience vrg'd 

me to it. 
Har. Thy conscience? then thy conscience 

is corrupt, 10 

For in thy conscience thou art bound to vs, 
And in thy conscience thou shouldst loue thy 


Else what's the difference twixt a Christian 
And the vnciuil manners of the Turke? 

Beuer. We meant no hurtvnto your maiesty, 

But reformation of Religion. 1 6 

Har. Reforme Religion? was it that ye 


I pray who gaue you that authority? 
Belike, then, we do hold the scepter vp 
And sit within the throne but for a cipher. 20 
Time was, good subiects would make knowne 

their griefe 

And pray amendment, not inforce the same, 
Vnlesse their King were tyrant, which I hope 
You cannot iustly say that Harry is. 

l'J9 of Wrootham om. Q3, elc. Scene II. etc. add. 
M 17 ye] you Q S, etc. 

What is that other? 25 

Suff. A mault-man, my Lord, 
And dwelling in Dunstable as he sales. 
Har. Sirra, what made you leaue your barly 

To come in armour thus against your King? 

Mur. Fie, paltry, paltry; to and fro, in and 
out vpon occasion; what a worlde's this! 
Knight-hood (my liege) twas knight-hood 
brought me hither. They told me I had wealth 
enough to make my wife a lady. 

Har. And so you brought those horses 
which we saw, 35 

Trapt all in costly furniture, and meant 
To weare these spurs when you were knighted 


Mur. In and out vpon occasion, I did. 
Har. In and out vppon occasion, therefore, 
You shall be hang'd, and in the sted of wearing 
These spurres vpon your heeles, about your 
necke 4: 

They shall bewray your folly to the world, 
sir lohn In and out vpon ocasion, that goes 


Mur. Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro; good 
my liege, a pardon. I am sory for my fault. 4S 
Har. That comes too late: but tell me, went 

there none 
Beside sir Roger Acton, vpon whom 
You did depend to be your gouernour? 

Mur. None, none, my Lord, but sir lohn 

Har. Beares he part in this conspiracie? 50 

enter Bishop. 
Act. We lookt, my Lord, that he would meet 

vs here. 
Har. But did he promise you that he would 


Act. Such letters we receiued forth of Kent. 
Bish. Where is my Lord the King? Health 

to your grace. 

Examining, my Lord, some of these caitiue 
rebels, 55 

It is a generall voyce amongst them all, 
That they had neuer come vnto this place, 
But to haue met their valiant general, 
The good Lord Cobham, as they title him; 
Whereby, my Lord, your grace may now per- 
ceiue, 60 

His treason is apparant, which before 
He sought to colour by his flattery. 

Har. Now, by my roialtie, I would haue 

39-42 Prose in Qq, Ff: con: JH 49 None once Qq, 
Ff: No_ne, my good lord M 50 a part Q i", ttr. 
55 caitiue om. 02, etc. 56 among 0;', itc. 57 
into QS, etc. 



ACT IV, St. II. 

But for his conscience, which I beare withall, 

There had not liude a more true hearted sub- 

iect. 65 

Bisk. It is but counterfeit, my gracious 


And therefore, may it please your maiestie 
To set your hand vnto this precept here, 
By which weel cause him forthwith to appeare, 
And answer this by order of the law. 70 

Har. Bishop, not only that, but take com 


To search, attach, imprison, and condemne 
This most notorious traitor as you please. 

Bish. It shall be done, my Lord, without 


So now I hold, Lord Cobham, in my hand, 75 
That which shall finish thy disdained life. 

Har. I thinke the yron age begins but now, 
(Which learned poets haue so often taught) 
Wherein there is no credit to be giuen, 79 
To either wordes, or lookes, or solemne oathes. 
For if there were, how often hath he sworne, 
How gently tun'de the musicke of his tongue, 
And with what amiable face beheld he me, 
When all, God knowes, was but hypocrisie. 

enter Cobham. 

Cob. Long life and prosperous raigne vnto 

my Lord. 85 

Har. Ah, villaine, canst thou wish pros- 


Whose heart includeth naught but treacherie? 
I do arrest thee here my selfe, false knight, 
Of treason capitall against the state. 

Cob. Of treason, mightie prince? your grace 
mistakes. 90 

I hope it is but in the way of mirth. 

Har. Thy necke shall feele it is in earnest 


Darst thou intrude into our presence, knowing 
How haynously thou hast offended vs? 
But this is thy accustomed deceit; 95 

Now thou perceiust thy purpose is in vaine, 
With some excuse or other thou wilt come, 
To cleere thy selfe of this rebellion. 

Cob. Rebellion, good my Lord? I know of 


Har. If you deny it, here is euidence. i oo 
See you these men? you neuer councelled, 
Nor offerd them assistance in their warres? 
Cob. Speake, sirs. Not one but all; I craue 

no fauour. 

Haue euer I beene conuersant with you, 
Or written letters to incourage you, 105 

Or kindled but the least or smallest part 

66 lords / 71 Bishop om. OS, etc. 
ivQ2, /y BbyntoQl 

81 there] 

" 151 

Of this your late vnnaturall rebellion? 
Speake, for I dare the vttermost you can. 
Mur. In and out vpon occasion, I know you 


Har. No? didst not say that sir lohn Old- 

castle no 

Was one with whom you purposde to haue 


Mur. True, I did say so, but in what respect? 
Because I heard it was reported so. 

Har. Was there no other argument but 


Act. To cleere my conscience ere I die, my 
lord, 115 

I must confesse, we haue no other ground 
But only Rumor, to accuse this lord, 
Which now I seo was merely fabulous. 
Har. The more pernitious you to taint him 


Whome you knew not was faulty, yea or no. 120 
Cobh. Let this, my Lord, which I present 

your grace, 

Speake for my loyalty: reade these articles, 
And then giue sentence of my life or death. 
Har. Earle Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray 


With bribes from Charles of France, either to 
winne i 25 

My Crowne from me, or secretly contriue 
My death by treason? Is this possible? 
Cobh. There is the platforme, and their 

hands, my lord, 

Each generally subscribed to the same. 1 29 
Har Oh neuer heard of, base ingratitude! 
Euen those I huggc within my bosome most 
Are readiest euermore to sting my heart. 
Pardon me, Cobham, I haue done thee wrong; 
Heereafter I will Hue to make amends. 
Is, then, their time of meeting so neere hand? 
Weele meete with them, but little for their 
ease, 136 

If God permit. Goe, take these rebells hence; 
Let them haue martiall law: but as for thee, 
Friend to thy king and country, still be free. 


Murl. Bo it more or lesse, what a world is 

this? 14 

Would I had continued still of the order of 

And neuer sought knighthood, since it costes 

so deere. 
Sir Roger, I may thanke you for all. 

Acton Now tis too late to haue it remedied, 
I prithee, Murley, doe not vrge me with it. 1 45 

110 didst thou not 02, tic. 120 know was not 

OS, etc. 127 Is this] 1st QS, Ff: Is it M 14;' 
nds costes Qq, Ff: corr. M 


Hunt. Will you away, and make no more 

to do? 
Marl Fy, paltry, paltry! to and fro, as 

occasion serues; 

If you be so hasty, take my place. 
Hunt. No, good sir knight, you shall begin 

in your hand. x 49 

Murl. I could be glad to giue my betters 

place. [ xean/ - 

(SCENE IH. Kent. Court before lord Cobham' s 

Enter Bishop, lord Warden, CroamertheShrieue, 

Lady Cob. and attendants. 
Bishop I tell ye, Lady, its not possible 
But you should know where he conueiea him- 


And you haue hid him in some secret place. 
Lady My Lord, beleeue me, as I haue a 

I know not where my lord my husband is. 5 

Bishop Go to, go to, ye are an heretike, 
And will be forc'de by torture to confesse, 
If faire meanes will not serue to make ye tell. 

Lady My husband is a noble gentleman, 
And neede not hide himself e for anie fact 10 
That ere I heard of; therefore wrong him not. 
Bishop Your husband is a dangerous schis- 


Traitor to God, the King, and common wealth: 
And therefore, master Croamer, shrieue of 


I charge you take her to your custodie, i s 
And ceaze the goods of Sir lohn Old -castle 
To the Kings vse. Let her go in no more, 
To fetch so much as her apparell out. 
There is your warrant from his maiestie. 
L. War. Good my Lord Bishop, pacific your 
wrath 20 

Against the Lady. 

Bish. Then let her confesse 
Where Old -castle her husband is conceald. 

Shew him his highnesse warrant, M(aister) 


L. War. I am sorie for the noble gentle 

Enter Old-castle & Harp. 

Bish. Peace, he comes here; now do your 

Old -castle Harpoole, what businesse haue 

we here in hand? 

What makes the Bishop and the Shiriff e here? 
(1) feare my comming home is dangerous, 36 
(I) would I had not made such haste to Cobham. 

Harp. Be of good cheere, my Lord: if they 
be foes, weele scramble shrewdly with them: 
if they be friends, they are welcome. One cf 
them (my Lord Warden) is your friend; but 
me thinkes my ladie weepes; I like not that. 

Croo. Sir lohn Old -castle, Lord Cobham, 
in the Kings maiesties name, I arrest ye of 
high treason. 45 

Oldca. Treason, M(aister) Croomer? 

Harp. Treason, M(aister) Shrieue? sbloud, 
what treason? 

Oldca. Harpoole, I charge thee, stirre not, 

but be quiet still. 48 

Do ye arrest me, M 'aister) Shrieue, for treason? 

Bish. Yea, of high treason, traitor, heretike. 

Oldca. Defiance in his face that calls me so. 
I am as true a loyall gentleman 
Vnto his highnesse, as my prowdest enemie. 
The King shall witnesse my late faithfull ser- 

For safety of his sacred maiestie. 55 

Bish. What thou art the kings hand shall 

Shewt him, Lord Warden. 

Old. lesu defend me! 
Is't possible your cunning could so temper 
The princely disposition of his mind, 60 

To signe the damage of a loyall subiect? 
Well, the best is, it beares an antedate, 
Procured by my absence, and your malice, 

L. War. I dare engage mine honor and my ! But I, since that, haue shewd my selfe as true 

Poore gentlewoman, she is ignorant 25 

And innocent of all his practises, 
If any euill by him be practised. 

Bish. If, my Lord Warden? nay, then I 
charge you, 


As any churchman that dare challenge me. 
Let me be brought before his maiestie; 
If he acquite me not, then do your worst. 

Bish. We are not bound to do kind offices 
For any traitor, schismatike, nor heretike. 

Be laid forthwith, that he escape vs not. 30 

The kings hand is our warrant for our workc, 

: ( 

That all the cinque Ports, whereof you are Who is departed on his way for France, 


3< feare Q 1 : I ftare Q : } , clc. '-ft would 

would Q ?, etc. 40-2 One . . like net that i.-m. 

149 you., hand] eene tak't your selfe Q2, etc. 
S. D. Exeunt] Between Scene II. and Scene III. H inserts 
I"., 7. Scene III. etc. add. M 6 Go too, go yc 
Q ?, F/: coir. It ye] you M 8 yc] you Q :', etc. 

44 majesties 0111. Q 2, etc. ye] you M 46 
Croomes Qq : corr. f 47 sbloud oni. ;'. etc. 

48 still OHI. 03, etc. 49 ve] you M of Treas 
Si She 

M. Sheriffe QS, etc. 

61 royall Qq, F/: con: It 

ou M of Treason 
Shewt] Shew l> :'. dc. 



And at Southampton doth repose this night. 
Harp. that it were the blessed will of God, 
that thou and I were within twenty mile of it, 
on Salisbury plaine! I would lose my head if 
euer thou broughtst thy head hither againe. 


Oldca. My Lord Warden o'th cinque Ports, 
& my Lord of Rochester, ye are ioynt Commis 
sioners: fauor me so much, 
On my expence to bring me to the king. 80 
Bish. What, to Southhampton? 
Oldca. Thither, my go(o)d Lord, 
And if he do not cleere me of al guilt, 
And all suspition of conspiracy e, 
Pawning his princely warrant for my truth: 
I aske no fauour, but extreamest torture. 86 
Bring me, or send me to him, good my 


Good my Lord Warden, M(aister) Shrieue, 

[Here the Lord Warden, and Cromer 
vncouer to the Bishop, and secretly 
whispers with him. 
Come hither, lady nay, sweet wife, for- 


To heape one sorrow on anothers necke: 90 
Tis grief e enough falsly to be accusde, 
And not permitted to acquite my selfe; 
Do not thou with thy kind respectiue teares, 
Torment thy husbands heart that bleedes for 


But be of comfort. God hath help in store 95 
For those that put assured trust in him. 
Deere wife, if they commit me to the Tower, 
Come vp to London to your sisters house: 
That being neere me, you may comfort me. 
One solace find I setled in my soule, xoo 

That I am free from treasons very thought: 
Only my conscience for the Gospels sako 
Is cause of all the troubles I sustaine. 

Lady. my deere Lord, what shall betide 
of vs? 104 

You to the Tower, and I turnd out of doores, 
Our substance ceaz'd vnto his highnesse vse, 
Euen to the garments longing to our backes. 
Harp. Patience, good madame, things at 

worst will mend, 

And if they doe not, yet our Hues may end. 
Bish. Vrge it no more, for if an Angell 
spake, 1 1 o 

I sweare by sweet saint Peters blessed keyes, 
First goes he to the Tower, then to the stake. 
Crom. But by your leaue, this warrant doth 
not stretch 

73 that.. God om. Q2, dr. 74 miles Q :'. dr. 

76 euer om. <?, etc. 78 my om. QS, etc. ,S. />. 
They both entreat for him Q2, etc. 

To imprison her. 

Bishop No, turne her out of doores, 115 
[L. Warden and Oldcastle whisper. 
Euen as she is, and leade him to the Tower, 
With guard enough for f eare of rescuing. 
Lady 0, God requite thee, thou bloud- 

thirsty man. 

Oldca. May it not be, my Lord of Rochester? 
Wherein haue I incurd your hate so farre, 1 20 
That my appeale vnto the King's denide? 
Bish. No hate of mine, but power of holy 

Forbids all fauor to false heretikes. 

Oldca. Your priuate malice, more than 
pub like power, 124 

Strikes most at me, but with my life it ends. 
Harp. that I had the Bishop in that f eare, 


That once I had his Sumner by our seluesl 
Crom. My Lord, yet graunt one sute vnto 

vs all, 
That this same auncient seruing man may 

Vpon my lord his master in the Tower. 1 30 

Bish. This old iniquitie, this heretike? 
That, in contempt of our church discipline, 
Compeld my Sumner to deuoure his processe! 
Old Ruffian past -grace, vpstart schismatike, 
Had not the King prayd vs to pardon ye, 135 
Ye had fryed for it, ye grizild heretike. 

Harp. Sbloud, my lord Bishop, ye do me 
wrong. I am neither heretike nor puritane, 
but of the old church: ilo sweare, drinke ale, 
kisse a wench, go to masse, eate fish all Lent, 
and fast fridaies with cakes and wine, fruit e 
and spicerie, shriue me of my old sinnes afore 
Easter, and beginne new afore whitsontide. 
Crom. A merie, mad, conceited knaue, my 


Harp. That knaue was simply put vpon 

the Bishop. 145 

Bish. Wei, God forgiue him and I pardon 


Let him attend his master in the Tower, 
For I in charity wish his soule no hurt. 
Oldca. God blesse my soule from such cold 


Bish. Too'th Tower with him, and when 
my leisure serues, 150 

I will examine him of Articles. 
Looke, my lord Warden, as you haue in 


The Shriuo performe his office. 
L. Ward. Yes, my lord. 

115,?. D. om. QS,ctc. 
ye wrong me QS, etc. 
Q2,Ff: Ay/?, etc. 


1 36 You. .you M 137-8 
137 ye] you // 154 Yes] I 


Enter the Sumner with bookes. 
Bish. Whatbringst thou there? what, bookes 
ofheresie? '55 

Som. Yea, my lord, heres not a latme 

Lief ten. My lord of Rochester! your honor's 
welcome. 20 

Bish. Sir,' heres my warrant from the Coun - 

booke no, not so much as our ladies Psalter, j For conference with sir lohn Old-castle, 
Heres 'the 'Bible, the testament, the Psalmes in j Vpon some matter of great consequence, 
meter, the sickemans salue, the treasure of 
gladnesse, and al in English, not so much but 
the Almanack's English. '61 

Bish. Away with them, to'th fire with them, 


Now fie vpon these vpstart heretikes. 
Al English! burne them, burne them quickly, 
Clun! '64 

Harp. But doe not, Sumner, as youle 
answere it, for I haue there English bookes, 
my lord, that ile not part with for yourBishopp- 
ricke: Beuis of Hampton, Owleglasse, the 
Frier and the Boy, Ellenor Rumming, Robin 
hood, and other such godly stories, which if ye 
burne, by this flesh, ile make ye drink their 
ashes in S(aint) Margets ale. [exeunt. 

Lieften. Ho, sir lohn! 

Harp. Who calls there? 25 

Lieften. Harpoole, tel Sir lohn, that my 

lord of Rochester 

Comes from the counsell to conferre with him. 
Harp. I will, sir. 
Lief. I thinke you may as safe without sus- 


As any man in England, as I heare, 30 

For it was you most labor'd his commitment. 
Bish. I did, sir, and nothing repent it, I 
assure you. 

(SCENE IV. The entrance of the Tower.} 

Enter the Bishop of Rochester with his men in 
liuerie coates. 

1. Ser. Is it 'your honors pleasure we shal 

Or come backe in the afternoone to fetch 

Bish. Now you haue brought me heere into 

the Tower, 

You may go backe vnto the Porter.? Lodge, 
And send for drinke or such things as you 


Where if I haue occasion to imploy you, 
lie send some officer to cal you to me. 
Into the cittie go not, I commaund you: 
Perhaps I may haue present neede to vse 


2 We will attend your worship here without. 
Bish. Do so, I pray you. 1 1 

3 Come, we may haue a quart of wine at 

the Rose at Barking, I warrant you, and come 
backe an hower before he be ready to go. 
1 We must hie vs then. 

Enter sir lohn Old-castle (and Harpoot). 

M aister) Lieftenant, I pray you giue vs leaue, 
I must conferre here with sir lohn a little. 

Lief. With all my heart, my lord. 35 

Harp (aside). My lord, be rulde by me: take 
this occasion while tis offered, and on my life 
your lordship shal escape. 

Old-ca. No more, I say; peace, lest he should 
suspect it. 39 

Bish. Sir lohn, I am come vnto you from 
the lords of his highnesse most honorable 
counsell, to know if yet you do recant your 
errors, conforming you vnto the holy church. 

Old-ca. My lord of Rochester, on good 


I see my error, but yet, vnderstand me, 45 
5 I meane not error in the faith I hold, 
But error in submitting to your pleasure; 
Therefore, your lordship, without more to do, 
Must be a meanes to help me to escape. 

Bish. What meanes, thou heretike? 50 
Darst thou but lift thy hand against my calling? 

sir lohn No, not to hurt you for a thousand 

Harp. Nothing but to borrow your vpper 

3 Let's away. 

Bish. Ho, M(aister) Lieftenant. 
Lieften. Who calls there? 
Bish. A friend of yours. 


150-61 Yer. e 
no not ?, etc. 

160 and om. Q S, etc. All English, 
167 with] withal Q9, etc. 169 
Ellen ot #7, Ff: con: M Fcenc IV. etc. mil. .If 

Act Vlfijins hire in S 5 om. 02, etc. 10 worship] 
honoi- <j 2, etc. 11 om. Q?, etc. 13 I warrant you 
cm. Q '-, etc. 14 lefore he'l go (J?, etc. 

garments a little; not a word more, for if you 
do, you die: peace, for waking the children. 
There; put them on; dispatch, my lord. The 
window that goes out into the leads is sure 
enough, I told you that before: there, make 

28 om. OS, etc. S. D. and Harpool atlil. R 36-8 
Verse Jtf 38 shal] wil Q 2, etc. 40 vnto] to Q ?, 
dr. 41-2 of the Counsell Q2, rfr. 4_> vet ot. 

Q?, etc. 43 conforming. . church nm. OS, itc. 

54-5 for if. . die om. Q ?, etc. 58-60 I told you . . 

roome] and as for you, Ile bind you surely in the 
inner roome QS: as for you, etc. Ff, M, etc, : but 
for you. etc. I{, Pope 



ACT IV, Sc. IV. 

you ready; ile conuay him after, and bind him 

surely in the inner roome. 60 

(Carries (he bishop into the Tower, and 

Old-ca. This is wel begun; God send vs 

happic speed, 

Hard shift you see men make in time of need. 

(Puts on the bishop's cloak.' 
Harp. Heere my Lord; come, cor&e away. 

Enter seruing men againe. 

1 I maruell that my lord should stay so 

2 He hath sent to seeke vs, I dare lay my 
life. 65 

3 We come in good time; see, where he is 

Harp. I beseech you, good my lord of 
Rochester, be fauorable to my lord and maister. 

Old-ca. The inner roomes be very hot and 

I do not like this ayre here in the Tower. 70 

Harp. His case is hard my lord. You shall 
safely get out of the Tower; but I will downe 
vpon them, in which time get you away. 

Old-ca. Fellow, thou troublest me. 74 

Harp. Heare me, my Lord! Hard vnder 
Islington wait you my comming ; I will bring my 
Lady, ready with horses to conuay you hence. 

Old-ca. Fellow, go back againe vnto thy 
Lord and counsell-him. 79 

Harp. Nay, my good lord of Rochester, ile 
bring you to S s aint; Albons through the woods, 
I warrant you. 

Old-ca. Villaine, away. 83 

Harp. Nay, since I am past the Towers 
libertie, thou part'st not so. [he drawes. 

Old-ca. Clubbes, clubs, clubs! 

1 Murther, murther, murther! 

2 Downe with him! [they fight. 

3 A villaine traitor! 

Harp. You cowardly rogues! 90 

[sir John escapes. 

Enter Lief tenant and his men. 
Lieft. Who is so bold as dare to draw a 


So neare vnto the entrance of the Tower? 
1 This ruffian, seruant to sir lohn Old- 

60, 62 5. 7). fi. ,i(]<L M r>_>-3 Harpoole . . come away 
<im. Q2. etc. 1-2 safely] scarcely M 74-5 Old-ca". 
. .my Lord om. Q2, ftc. 77 to get lience 02, etc. 

85 you part Q ?. etc. 86 Prtfr Bish. Qq, Ff: 

Cob. R 89 oi. Q2. dr. 00 You] Out you Q ?. 

(I,-. f-1 as to clnre Ff : t- dart- /.'. <'c. ' '.13-4 

J'i^( Qf. Ft': rrn-r. M 

Was like to haue slaine my Lord. 

Lieft. Lay hold on him. 95 

Harp. Stand off if you loue your puddings. 

Rochester calls within. 
Roch (within). Help, help, help! M(aister) 
Lieftenant, help! 

Lief. Who's that within? some treason in 

the Tower 

Vpon my life. Looke in; who's that which 
calls? zoo 

enter Roch. bound. 
Lief. Without your cloke, my lord of 

Harp. There, now it workes, then let me 

speed, for now 

Is the fittest time for me to scape away. [exit. 
Lief. Why do you looke so ghastly and 


Roch. Old -castle, that traitor, and his 
man, 105 

When you had left me to conferre with him, 
Tooke, bound, and stript me, as you see, 
And left me lying in his inner chamber, 
And so departed, and I 
Lief. And you? ne're say that the Lord 
Cobhams man no 

Did here set vpon you like to murther you. 

1 And so he did. 

Roch. It was vpon his master then he 


That in the brawle the traitor might escape. 
Lief. Where is this Harpoole? 115 

2 Here he was euen now. 
Lief. Where? can you tell? 
(2) They are both escap'd. 

(Lie/.) Since it so happens that he is 


I am glad you are a witnesse of the same, 1 20 
It might haue else beene laid vnto my 


That I had beene consenting to the fact. 
Roch. Come, search shal be made for him 

with expedition, 

The hauens laid that he shall not escape, 
And hue and crie continue thorough Eng 
land, 1 25 
To find this damned, dangerous heretike. 


99-100 Prone Qq. Ff: con: M 100 Vpon] on Q ? 
Ff 102-3 Frost Q 1 102 now I see it M 103 for 
me om. Q 2, etc. 108 his] this Ff 109 and I ginn 
to 1 Scr. M 110 you ? ne're] you now M 111 

vpon] on Q2, f/c. 117 Where fled, can M 118 
They .. escap'd ginn to lief. Qq, Ff: alteration conj. 
S'. V_>3-6 Jm Qq. Ff: rnrr. R 124 Haven's 

Ff. dr. 125 through Q ?. //: throughout J/, 


(ACT V. 

are *bl e * d much, 35 

, . . And silent night is Treason's fittest friend. 
SCENE I. A room in lord Cobham s house in Now> Cambridge) in hig getting hence for 

Kent.) France, 

Enter Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray, as in a Q T ^ y t ne way, or as he goes aboord, 
chamber, and set downe at a table, consult- f ,j o the deed, that was indifferent too, 
ing about their treason: King Harry and Ye t somewhat doubtful, might I speake my 
Suffolke listning at the doore. mind, 40 

Comb. In mine opinion, Scroope hath well For many reasons needelesse now to vrge. 

aduisde ; Mary, Lord Gray came something neare the 

Poison will be the only aptest meane, 
And fittest for our purpose to dispatch him. 
Gray But yet there may be doubt in their 
deliuery. 4 

Harry is wise; therefore, Earle of Cambridge, 
I ludge that way not so conuenient. 

Scroop What thinke ye then of this? I am 

his bedfellow, 

And vnsuspected nightly sleepe with him. 
What if I venture in those silent houres, 
When sleepe hath sealed vp all mortall eies, 10 
To murder him in bed? how like ye that? 
Comb. Herein consistes no safetie for your 


And, you disclosde, what shall become of vs? 
But this day (as ye know) he will aboord 
The winds so faire and set away for France. 
If, as he goes, or entring in the ship, 1 6 

It might be done, then it were excellent. 
Gray Why any of these, or, if you will, He 


A present sitting of the Councell, wherein 
I will pretend some matter of such weight, 20 
As needes must haue his royall company, 
And so dispatch him in the Councell chamber. 
Camb. Tush, yet I heare not any thing to 


I wonder that lord Cobham staies so long; 
His counsell in this case would much auaile vs. 
[They rise from the table, and the King 
steps in to them, with his Lordes. 
Scroop What, shal we rise thus, and deter 
mine nothing? 26 
Har. That were a shame indeede; no, sit 


And you shall haue my counsell in this case. 
If you can find no way to kill this King, 
Then you shall see how I can further ye: 30 
Scroopes way by poison was indifferent, 
But yet, being bed-fellow vnto the King, 
And vnsuspected sleeping in his bosome, 
In mine opinion, that's the likelier way, 

Act V. etc. add. M Ad 1", Sc. IfoUoirx IV. IIS 

4 their] the M 5 and therefore R 15 wind 7 
17 then were it Q 3, elf. 18, 19 Linen end will, 
Councell Qq, Ff: con: M 22 so OS, c'c. : to 01 
the] his Q S. etc. 29 this] the OS, etc. :?0 further] 
furnish Ff, etc. 


To haue the King at councell, and there mur 
der him, 

As Caesar was, amongst his dearest friends: 
None like to that, if all were of his mind. 45 
Tell me, oh tel me, you, bright honors 

ye] you J/ 32 vnto] to Q 3, etc. ' 


For which of all my kindnesses to you, 
Are ye become thus traitors to your king, 
And France must haue the spoile of Harries 


All. Oh pardon vs, dread lord. 50 

[all kneeling. 

Har. How, pardon ye? that were a sinne 


Drag them to death, which iustly they deserue, 
\they leade them away. 
And France shall dearely buy this villany, 
So soone as we set footing on her breast. 
God haue the praise for our deliuerance; 55 
And next, our thankes, Lord Cobham, is to 

True perfect mirror of nobilitie. [exeunt. 

(SCENE II. A high road near St. Albans.) 
Enter Priest and Doll. 

sir lohn Come, Dol, come; be mery, wench. 
Farewell, Kent, we are not for thee. . 
Be lusty, my lasse, come, for Lancashire, 
We must nip the Boung for these crownes. 

Doll Why, is all the gold spent already that 
you had the other day? 6 

sir lohn Gone, Doll, gone; flowne, spent, 
vanished: the diuel, drinke and the dice has 
deuoured all. 

Doll You might haue left me in Kent, that 
you might, vntil you had bin better prouided, 
I could haue staied at Cobham. 1 2 

sir lohn No, Dol, no, ile none of that; 
Kent's too hot, Doll, Kent's too hot. The 
weathercocke of Wrotham will crow no longer: 

40 Yet] But Q S. etc. 40-1 miplit I . . vrge om. Q S, 
etc. 42 something] verie Q2,etc. 45o;. Q ;'. </<: 
57 S. I), exeunt] The fullniriitf/scnirs hare, ban tUtptHCtt 
in QIJ, Ff, the order be/tin : 4-7. i*. .?. 8: con: R 
Scene IT. cfr. nrfd. M 10-11 Kent till QS, etc. 12 
I . . Cobham oin. Q S, etc. 13 ile . . that om.Q?, c/c. 



ACT V, Sc. III. 

we haue pluckt him, he has lost his leathers; 
I haue prunde him bare, left him thrice; is 
moulted, is moulted, wench. 

Doll Faith, sir lohn, I might haue gone to 
seruice againe; old maister Harpoole told me 
he would prouide me a mistris. 21 

sir lohn Peace, Doll, peace. Come, mad 
wench, He make thee an honest woman; weele 
into Lancashire to our friends: the troth is, He 
marry thee. We want but a little mony to 
buy vs a horse, and to spend by the way; the 
next sheep that comes shal loose his fleece, 
weele haue these crownes, wench, I warrant 
thee. 29 

enter the Irish man with his master slaine. 

Stay, who comes here? some Irish vil- 

laine, me thinkes, that has slaine a man, and 

drawes him out of the way to rifle him. Stand 

close, Doll, weele see the end. 33 

[The Irish man falls to rifle his master. 

(Irishman.) Alas, poe mester, S(ir) Rishard 
Lee, be saint Patricke is rob and cut thy trote 
for dee shaine, and dy money, and dee gold 
ring be me truly: is loue thee wel, but now 
dow be kil, thee bee shit ten kanaue. 

sir lohn. Stand, sirra; what art thou? 

Irishman. Be saint Patricke, mester, is pore 
Irisman, is a leufter. 41 

sir lohn Sirra, sirra, you are a damned 
rogue; you haue killed a man here, and rifled 
him of all that he has. Sbloud, you rogue, 
deliuer, or ile not leaue you so much as an 
Irish haire aboue your shoulders, you whorson 
Irish dogge. Sirra, vntrusse presently; come, 
off and dispatch, or by this crosse ile fetch your 
head off as cleane as a barke. 49 

Irishman. Wees me, saint Patricke 1 Ise 
kill me mester for chaine and his ring, and 
nows be rob of all: mees vndoo. 

[Priest robs him. 

sir lohn Auant, you rascal! Go, sirra, be 
walking. Come, Doll, the diuel laughes, when 
one theefe robs another: come, madde wench, 
weele to saint Albons, and reuel in our bower; 
hey, my braue girle. 57 

Doll. O thou art old sir lohn when all's done, 
yfaith. (Exeunt.) 

17 prun'd him, left him bare thrice roni. St. 17- 
18 is . . is] he is . . lie is M 19 Faith, sir lohn om. 
Q 3, etc. 25-7 to buy . . fleece om. Q 3, etc. 28 

weele . . wench] & money we will haue Q3, etc. 
31-2 and drawes . . rifle him] and nowe is rifling on 
him Q 3 : and now he is, etc. Ff 36 dee gold] dy 
golde 3, etc. 37 dee well Q 3, etc. 38 kil dee Q 2. 
Ff: kill, dow M 46 Irish om. Q3, tic. 47-9 

Sirra . . barke om. Q3, etc. 50 by saint J/ 51 

for his shain M 52 now 1 se M 57 hey om. 

Q3, etc. S. D. add. K 

(SCENE III. St. Albans. The entrance of a 
carrier's inn.) 

Enter the hoste of the Bell with the Irish man. 

Irishman Be me tro, mester, is pore Irisman, 
is want Judging, is haue no mony, is starue 
and cold: good mester, giue her some meate; 
is famise and tie. 4 

Host Yfaith, my fellow, I haue no lodging, 
but what I keep for my guesse, that I may not 
disapoint; as for meate thou. shalt haue such 
as there is, & if thou wilt lie in the barne, 
theres faire straw, and roome enough. 9 

Irishman Is thanke my mester hartily, de 
straw is good bed for me. 

Host Ho, Robin! 

Robin Who calls? 13 

Host Shew this poore Irishman into the 
barne; go, sirra. [exeunt. 

Enter carrier and Kate. 

Club. Ho, who's within here? who lookes 
to the horses? Gods hatte! heres fine worke: 
the hens in the manger, and the hogs in the 
litter. A bots found you all; heres a house 
well lookt too, yvaith. 20 

Kate Mas, goffe Club, Ise very cawd. 

Club. Get in, Kate, get in to fier and warme 

Club Ho! lohn Hostler. 

(Enter Hostler.) 

Hostler What, gaffer Club? welcome to 
saint Albons. How does all our friends in 
Lancashire? 27 

Club Well, God haue mercie, lohn; how 
does Tom; wheres he? 

Hostler O, Tom is gone from hence; hees 
at the three horse -loues at Stony -stratford. 
How does old Dick Dunne? 32 

Club Gods hatte, old Dunne has bin moyerd 
in a slough in Brickhil-lane, a plague found it; 
yonder is such abliomination weather as neuer 
was seene. 

Hostler. Gods hat, thiefe, haue one half 
pecke of pease and oates more for that: as I am 
lohn Ostler, hee has been euer as good a iade 
as euer traueld. 4 

Club Faith, well said, old lacke; thou art 
the old lad stil. 

Scene III. etc. add. M 5 Faith fellow Q3, etc. 
6 Guests F3, etc. 6-7 that . . disapoint om. Q 3, 

etc. 7 such] as much Q3, etc. 10-11 de straw . . 
me om. 03, etc. 14 into] to 03, etc. 16 Ho om. 

83, etc. 17 Yds hat 03, Ff: Uds heart M 24 
o om. 03, etc. 28 God a mercy Q 3, etc. 30 

O om. Q3, etc. 33, 37 Yds hat Q3, Ff: Uds heart 
31 35 as was neuer Q 3, etc. 



Hostler Come, Gaffer Club, vnlode, vnlode, 
and get to supper, and He rub dunne the while. 
Come. [exeunt. 

(SCENE IV. The same. A room in the carrier's 

Enter the hoste, sir lohn Old-castle, and 

Hoste Sir, you are welcome to this house, 
to such as heere is with all my heart, but, by | 
the masse, I feare your lodging wilbe the j 
woorst. I haue but two beds, and they are 
both in a chamber, and the carier and his 
daughter lies in the one, and you and your 
wife must lie in the other. 7 

L. Cobh. In faith, sir, for my selfe I doe not 

greatly passe. 

My wife is weary, and would be at rest, 
For we haue traueld very far to day; 10 

We must be content with such as you haue. 

Hoste But I cannot tell how to doe with 
your man. 

Harpoole What, hast thou neuer an empty 
roome in thy house for me? 1 5 

Hoste Not a bedde, by my troth: there came 
a poore Irish man, and I lodgde him in the 
barne, where he has faire straw, though he 
haue nothing else. 

Harp. Well; mine hoste, I pray thee heipe 
mee to a payre of faire sheetes, and lie go 
lodge with him. 2 2 

Hoste By the masse, that thou shalt; a good 
payre of hempen sheetes, were neuer laine in: 
Come. [exeunt. 

(SCENE V. The same. A street.} 
Enter Constable, Maior, and Watch. 
Maior What? haue you searcht the towne? 
Const. All the towne, sir; we haue not left 
a house vnsearcht that vses to lodge. 

Maior Surely, my lord of Rochester was 

then deoeiude, 

Or ill informde of sir lohn Old -castle, 5 

Or if he came this way hees past the towne. 
He could not else haue scapt you in the 

Const. The priuy watch hath beene abroad 

all night, 

And not a stranger lodgeth in the towne 
But he is knowne: onely a lusty priest 10 

44-5 and He. . Come om. Q2, etc. Scene IV. etc. 
add. M 1 Sir, y'are 02, Ff 2 is heere 02, etc. 
2-3 by the masse oi. 02, etc. 8 Faith 02, etc. 

1-2 how] what 31 16 in troth Q2, etc. 18 al 

though Q 2, etc. prethee Q 2 : pry thee Ff, etc. 

21 faire] cleane QS, etc. Scene V. tic. add. 31 

We found in bed with a pretty wench, 

That sayes she is his wife yonder at the 

sheer es: 
But we haue chargde the hoste with his forth 

To morow morning. 

Maior What thinke you best to do? 15 
Const. Faith, maister maior, heeres a few 
stragling houses beyond the bridge, and a little 
Inne where cariers vse to lodge, though I 
thinke surely he would nere lodge there: but 
weele go search, & the rather, because there 
came notice to the towne the last night of an 
Irish man, that had done a murder, whome 
we are to make search for. 23 

Maior Come, I pray you, and be circum 
spect, [exeunt, 

(SCENE VI. The same. Before the Carrier's 
inn. Enter Watch.} 

1 Watch. First beset the house, before you 
begin the search. 

2 Watch. Content; euery man take a seuerall 
place. [heere is heard a great noyse within. 
Keepe, keepe, strike him downe there, downe 

with him. 5 

Enter Constable with the Irish man in Har- 
pooles apparell. 

Con. Come, you villainous heretique, con- 
fesse where your maister is. 

Irish man Vat mester? 

Maior Vat mester, you counterfeit rebell? 
this shall not serue your turne. i o 

Irish man Be sent Patrike I ha no mester. 

Con. Wheres the lord Cobham, sir lohn 
Old-castle, that lately is escaped out of the 

Irish man. Vat lort Cobham? 15 

Maior You counterfeit, this shal not serue 
you; weele torture you, weele make you to 
confesse where that arch -heretique, Lord Cob- 
ham, is: come, binde him fast. 

Irish man Ahone, ah one, ahone, a Cree! 20 

Con. Ahone, you crafty rascall! [exeunt. 

(SCENE VH. The same. The yard of the Inn.) 
Lord Cobham comes out in his gowne stealing. 

Cobh. Harpoole, Harpoole, I heare a mar- 
uelous noyse about the house: God warant vs, 
I feare wee are pursued: what, Harpoole. 

11 a young pretty Jtf 18 although Q 2. dr. 24 
Come] Come, then J/ Scene VI. dc. add. M 1 
Prefix Const. Qq, Ff: allfnd M 3 Prefix Officer Qq, 
Ff: a! tend M G^7 confesse] tell vs, <?'i>, etc. 13 is 

om. Q 2, etc. 18-19 Lord Cobham om. Q 2, itc. Scene 
VII. tic. add. J/ 1-3 IVm -V, </iV. after noise. leaiv 



ACT V, Sc. VII. 

Harp, within. Who calles there? 

Cobh. Tis I; dost thou not heare a noyse 
about the house? . 6 

Harp. Yes, mary , doe I : zwounds, I can not 

finde my hose; this Irish rascall that was lodgde 

with me all night hath stolne my apparell, 

and has left me nothing but a lowsie mantle, 

and a paire of broags. Get vp, get vp, and if 

the carier and his wench be asleep, change you 

with them as he hath done with me, and see 

if we can escape. (Exit lord Cobham.} 

[A noyse againe heard about the house, 

a pretty while; then enter the Constable, 

meeting Harpoole in the Irish mans 


Con. Stand close, heere comes the Irish 
man that didde the murther; by all tokens, this 
is he. 17 

Maior And perceiuing the house beset, 
would get away. Stand, sirra. 

Harp. What art thou that bidst me stand? 

Con. I am the Officer, and am come to 
search for an Irish man, such a viUaine as thy 
selfe, that hast murthered a man this last 
night by the hie way. 24 

Harp. Sbloud, Constable, art thou madde? 
am I an Irish man? 

Maior Sirra, weele finde you an Irish man 
before we part: lay hold vpon him. 

Con. Make him fast. thou bloudy rogue! 

Enter Lord Cobham and his lady in the carrier 

and wenches apparrell. 
Cobham What, will these Ostlers sleepe all 
day? 30 

Good morow, good morow. Come, wench, 

Saddle! saddle! Now afore God too fair dayes, 


Con. Who comes there? 
Maior Oh, tis Lankashire carier; let him 
passe. 35 

Cobham What, will no body open the gates 


Come, lets int stable to looke to our capons. 
(Exeunt Cobham and his Lady.} 
The carrier calling. 

Club (calling) Hoste! why ostler! zwookes, 
heres such a bomination company of boies. 
A pox of this pigstie at the house end; it filles 
all the house full of fleas. Ostler! ostler! 41 

7-14 Verse M, Air. after find, me, and, mantle, and 
if, asleep, me 14 S. D. add. M Scene VIII. The 

same add. M 32 foord-dayes Q 1 : farre-dayes Q 3 : T ... ____ . . 

eon: Ff 33 comes] goes QS, dr. 34 liim] them ! 73-4 now . . too too om. Q2, etc. 77-92 Verse 

Ff, etc. 36 ope QS, etc. 37 capuls COH>. Percy \ 80 haue] they have M 83 villaine om. Q2, etc. 

(Enter Ostler.} 

Ostler Who calles there? what would you 

Club Zwookes, do you robbe your ghests? 
doe you lodge rogues and slaues, and scoun 
drels, ha? they ha stolne our cloths here: why, 
ostler! 47 

Ostler A murrein choake you, what a bawl 
ing you keepe. 

(Enter Host.} 

Hoste How now, what woulde the carrier 
haue? looke vp there. 51 

Ostler They say that the man and woman 
that lay by them haue stolne their clothes. 

Hoste What, are the strange folkes vp yet 
that came in yester night? 

Const. What, mine hoste, vp so early? 56 

Hoste What, maister Maior, and maister 

Maior We are come to seeke for some sus 
pected persons, 

And such as heere we found, haue appre 
hended. 60 

Enter the Carrier and Kate in lord Cobham 
and ladies apparell. 

Con. Who comes heere? 

Club Who comes here? a plague found ome! 
you bawle, quoth a! ods hat, He forzweare your 
house: you lodgde a fellow and his wife by \s 
that ha runne away with our parrel, and left 
vs such gew-gawes here! Come Kate, come 
to mee, thowse dizeard, yfaith. 67 

Maior Mine hoste, know you this man? 

Hoste Yes, maister Maior, He giue my word 
for him. Why, neibor Club, how comes this 
geare about? 71 

Kate Now, a fowle ont, I can not make this 
gew-gaw stand on my head: now the lads and 
the lasses won flowt me too too 

Const. How came this man and woman 
thus attired? 76 

Hoste Here came a man and woman hither 
this last night, which I did take for substantial! 
people, and lodgde all in one chamber by these 
folkes, mee thinkes, haue beene so bolde to 
change apparell, and gone away this morning 
ere they rose. 82 

Maior That was that villaine traitour, Old- 
castle, that thus escaped vs: make out huy and 
cry yet after him, keepe fast that traiterous 

41, 49 S. D. D. add. M 44-7 Verse Q S, etc., dir. 

after guests, ha 52 that om. Ff and the woman 
() 3, etc. 54 yet om. J/ 63 foreweare Q 3, Ff 

TO A *-.iir 4-nn 4-f\r* >, fl O f4n T7_Q-> Vavon ,!/ 

S. 1). add. R 

\ 84 out om. Q?, (tc. 


rebell, his seruant, there: farewell, mine 

Carter Come, Kate Owdham, thou and Ise 
trimly dizard. 8 9 

Kate Ifaith, neame Club, Ise wot nere what 
to do, Ise be so flowted and so showted at: but 
byth messe Ise cry. [exeunt. 

(SCENE VIII. A wood near St. Albans.} 
Enter sir lohn Old-castle, and his Lady 

Oldca. Come, Madam, happily escapt; here 

let vs sit. 

This place is f arre remote from any path, 
And here awhile our weary limbs may rest, 
To take refreshing, free from the pursuite 
Of enuious Rochester. 5 

Lady But where, my Lord, 
Shall we find rest for our disquiet minds? 
There dwell vntamed thoughts that hardly 


To such abasement of disdained rags. 
We were not wont to trauell thus by night, 10 
Especially on foote. 

Oldca. No matter, loue; 
Extremities admit no better choice, 
And were it not for thee, say froward time 
Imposde a greater taske, I would esteeme it 1 5 
As lightly as the wind that blowes vpon vs; 
But in thy sufferance I am doubly taskt. 
Thou wast not wont to haue the earth thy 


Nor the moist dewy grasse thy pillow, nor 
Thy chamber to be the wide horrison. 20 
Lady How can it seeme a trouble, hauing 


A partner with me in the worst I feele? 
No, gentle Lord, your presence would giue 


To death it selfe, should he now seaze vpon me. 
Behold what my foresight hath vndertane 25 
[heres bread and cheese & a bottle. 
For feare we faint; they are but homely cates, 
Yet saucde with hunger, they may seeme as 


As greater dainties we were wont to taste. 
Oldca. Praise be to him whose plentie sends 

both this 

And all things else our mortall bodies need; 30 
Nor scorne we this poore feeding, nor the state 
We now are in, for what is it on earth, 
Nay, vnder heauen, continues at a stay? 
Ebbes not the sea, when it hath ouerflowne? 
Followes not darknes when the day is gone? 35 

Scene Vllf. etc.] Scene IX. etc. M 5 Winchester 
1 35 Flowes Q 1 : con: Q 2 

And see we not sometime the eie of heauen 
Dimmd with ouerflying clowdes: theres not 

that worke 

Of carefull nature, or of cunning art, 
(How strong, how beauteous, or how rich it 

But falls in time to ruine. Here, gentle 

Madame, 40 

In this one draught I wash my sorrow downe. 

Lady And I, incoragde with your cheere- 

full speech, 
Wil do the like. 

Oldca. Pray God poore Harpoole come. 
If he should fall into the Bishops hands, 45 
Or not remember where we bade him meete vs, 
It were the thing of all things else, that now 
Could breede reuolt in this new peace of mind. 
Lady Feare not, my Lord, hees witty to 


And strong to execute a present shift. 50 

Oldca. That power be stil his guide hath 

guided vs! 

My drowsie eies waxe heauy: earely rising, 
Together with the trauell we haue had, 
Make me that I could gladly take a nap, 
Were I perswaded we might be secure. 55 
Lady Let that depend on me: whilst you 

do sleepe, 

He watch that no misfortune happen vs. 
Lay then your head vpon my lap, sweete Lord, 
And boldly take your rest. 

Oldca. I shal, deare wife, 60 

Be too much trouble to thee. 

Lady Vrge not that; 

My duty binds me, and your loue commands. 
I would I had the skil with tuned voyce 
To draw on sleep with some sweet melodie, 65 
But imperfection, and vnaptnesse too, 
Are both repugnant: feare inserts the one, 
The other nature hath denied me vse. 
But what talke I of meanes to purchase that, 
Is freely hapned? sleepe with gentle hand 70 
Hath shut his eie -liddes. Oh victorious labour, 
How soone thy power can charme the bodies 


And now thou likewise climbst vnto my braine, 
Making my heauy temples stoupe to thee. 74 
Great God of heauen from danger keepe vs 

free. [both sleepes. 

Enter sir Richard Lee, and his men. 
Lee. A murder closely done, and in my 

Search carefully, if any where it were, 

36 sometimes FS, etc. 
Lay .. rest om. QS, etc. 


54 Makes 9 5, etc. 58-9 
C6 imperfectoin Q 2 


ACT V, Sc. IX. 

This obscure thicket is the likeliest place. : Looke on his wounds, looke on his purple hew: Sir, I haue found the body stiff e I Do we not finde you where the deede was done? 

with cold, ; Were notyour kniuesfast closed in your hands? 

And mangled cruelly with many wounds. 80 i Is not this cloth an argument beside, 122 
Lee Looke if thou knowest him, turne his \ Thus staind and spotted with his innocent 

body vp.- 

Alacke, it is my son, my sonne and heire, 
Whom two yeares since I sent to Ireland, 
To practise there the discipline of warre, 
And comming home (for so he wrote to me) 85 
Some sauage hart, some bloudy diuellish hand, 
Either in hate, or thirsting for his coyne, 
Hath here slucde out his bloud. Vnhappy 


Accursed place, but most inconstant fate, 
That hadst reserude him from the bullets fire, 
And suffered him to scape the wood-karnes 

fury, 91 

Didst here ordaine the treasure of his life, 
(Euen here within the armes of tender peace, 
And where security gaue greatest hope) 
To be consumde by treasons wastefull hand! 
And what is most afflicting to my soule, ->o 
That this his death and murther should be 

Without the knowledge by whose meanes twas 

2 seru. Not so, sir; I haue found the authors 

of it. 

See where they sit, and in their bloudy fistes, 
The f atall instruments of death and sin n e . z o i 
Lee lust iudgement of that power, whose 

gracious eie, 

Loathing the sight of such a hainous fact, 
Dazeled their senses with benumming sleepe, 
Till their vnhallowed treachery were knowne! 
Awake, ye monsters; murderers, awake; 106 
Tremble for horror; blush, you cannot chuse, 
Beholding this inhumane deed of yours. 
Old. What meane you, sir, to trouble weary 


And interrupt vs of our quiet sleepe? no 

Lee Oh diuellish! can you boast vnto your 


Of quiet sleepe, hauing within your hearts 
The guilt of murder waking, that with cries 
Deafes the lowd thunder, and sollicites heauen 
With more than Mandrakes shreekes for your 

offence? 115 

Lady Old. What murder? you vpbraid vs 

Lee Can you deny the fact? see you not 

The body of my sonne by you mis -done? 

78 M tirhJs S. D. Exit a servant. Re-enter Servant 
bearing a dead body 94 om. QS. dr. jiaue j>c. eif.: 
gate Q 1 105 were] was <J >. etc. 


These speaking characters, were nothing else 
To pleade against ye, would conuict you both. 
Bring them away, bereauers of my ioy. 126 
At Hartford, where the Sises now are kept, 
Their liues shall answere for my sonnes lost 


Lee As I am wrongd, so may the law pro- 

ceede. [exeunt. 

As we are innocent, so may we 

(SCENE IX. St. Allans.} 
Enter bishop of Rochester, constable of S. 
Albons, with sir lohn of Wrotham, Doll 
his wench, and the Irishman in Harpooles 

Bishop What intricate confusion haue we 


Not two houres since we apprehended one, 
In habit e Irish, but in speech not so: 
And now you bring another, that in speech 
Is altogether Irish, but in habite 5 

Seemes to be English: yea and more than so, 
The seruant of that heretike Lord Cobham. 
Irishman Fait, me be no seruant of the 

lord Cobhams, 

Me be Mack Chane of Vlster. 
Bishop Otherwise calld Harpoole of Kent; 

go to, sir, 10 

You cannot bh'nde vs with your broken Irish. 

sir lohn Trust me, my Lord Bishop, whether 


Or English, Harpoole or not Harpoole, that 
I leaue to be decided by the triall: 
But sure I am this man by face and speech 1 5 
Is he that murdred yong sir Richard Lee 
I met him presently vpon the fact 
And that he slew his maister for that gold; 
Those iewells, and that chaine I tooke from 

Bishop Well, our affaires doe call vs backe 

to London, 20 

So that we cannot prosecute the cause, 

124 were] were there Q 2, etc. 125 against you 
M 126 oi. Q3, etc. 127 To Hartford with 

them, where 2, etc. Scene IX. etc..} Scene X. etc. M 
4-6 Tico lines Q?, Ff, (lir. after Irish 5 altogether 
CHI. 02, etc. 6 Seemes to be om. Q2, etc. 8 Im 
me Q2 12 my om. Q2, etc. Lord] said Fff, It. 
Po)>f 12-14 'Tiro line* QS, etc.. dir. after English 

14 be decided by om. Q S, etc. 20 fairss Q ? 

T. B. 



As we desire to do; therefore we leaue 

The charge with you, to see they be conuaide 

To Hartford Sise: both this counterfaite 

And you, sir lohn of Wrotham, and your 

wench, 2 S 

For you are culpable as well as they, 
Though not for murder, yet for felony. 
But since you are the meanes to bring to light 
This gracelesse murder, you shall beare with 


Our letters to the ludges of the bench, 3 

To be your friendes in what they lawfull may. 
sir lohn I thanke your Lordship. 
Bish. So, away with them. [exeunt. 

(SCENE X. Hertford. A Hall of Justice.} 
Enter Gaoler and his man, bringing forth 

Old castle. 
Gaoler Bring forth the prisoners, see the 

court preparde; 

The Justices are comming to the bench. 
So, let him stand; away, and fetch the rest. 

Old. Oh, giue me patience to indure this 


Thou that art fountaine of that vertuous 

streame, 5 

And though contempt, false witnes, and 


Hang on these yron gyues, to presse my life 
As low as earth, yet strengthen me with faith, 
That I may mount in spirite aboue the cloudes. 

Enter Gaoler, bringing in Lady Old -castle 

and Harpoole. 

Here comes my lady: sorow, tis for her 10 
Thy wound is greeuous; else I scoff e at thee. 
What, and poore Harpoole! art thou ith bryars 

Harp. Ifaith, my Lord, I am in, get out how 

I can. 

Lady Say, gentle Lord, for now we are 

alone, 1 4 

And may conferre, shall we confesse in briefe, 

Of whence, and what we are, and so preuent 

The accusation is commencde against vs? 

Old. What will that helpe vs? being knowne, 

sweete loue, 

We shall for heresie be put to death, 
For so they tearme the religion we professe. 20 
No, if it be ordained we must die, 
And at this instant, this our comfort be, 
That of the guilt imposde, our soules are free. 

24 'sizes M 29 we shall Q 2 : ye shall Ff 33 
om. Q 2, tic. Scene X. etc.] Scene XI. etc. M 5 of 
this M 21-2 if. , instant] if we dye let Q2, etc. 


Harp. Yea, yea, my lord, Harpcole is so 


I wreake of death the lesse, in that I die 25 
Not by the sentence of that enuious priest 
The Bishop of Rochester: oh, were it he, 
Or by his meanes that I should suffer here, 
It would be double torment to my soule. 
Lady Well, be it then according as heauen 
please. 30 

Enter lord ludge, two lustices, Maior of Saint 

Albons, lord Powesse and his lady, and 

old sir Richard Lee: the Judge and lustices 

take their places. 

ludge Now, M(aister) Maior, what gentle* 

man is that, 

You bring with you before vs and the bench? 
Maior The Lord Powes, if it like your 


And this his Lady, trauelling toward Wales, 
Who, for they lodgde last night within my 
house, 35 

And my Lord Bishop did lay search for such, 
Were very willing to come on with me, 
Lest for their sakes suspition me might wrong. 
ludge We crie your honor mercy, good my 


Wilt please ye take your place. Madame, your 

ladyship 40 

May here or where you will repose your selfe, 

Vntill this businesse now in hand be past. 

Lady Po. I will withdraw into some other 


So that your Lordship and the rest be pleasde. 
ludge With all our hearts: attend the Lady 
there. 45 

Lord Po. Wife, I haue eyde yond prisoners 

all this while, 

And my conceit doth tel me, tis our friend, 
The noble Cobham, and his vertuous Lady. 
Lady Po. I thinke no lesse: are they sus 
pected, trow ye, 
For doing of this murder? 50 

Lord Po. What it meanes 
I cannot tell, but we shall know anon. 
Meane space as you passe by them, ask the 


But do it secretly, you be not seene, 
And make some signe that I may know your 
mind. 55 

Lady Po. My Lord Cobham? madam? 

[as she passeth ouer the stage by them. 

24 1, I my Lord Q2, etc. 27-9 om. Q2, etc. 32 
and] to Q 2, etc. 33 if] an if M 36 search] waite 
OS, etc. 38 mepr. eel.: we Qq, etc. 40 ye] you 
Q 2, etc. 46 yon 02, etc. 49 trow ye om. 3, etc. 
50 doing of om. Q 2, etc. 53 space] time Q 2, etc. 
54 that you M 


ACT V, Sc. X. 

Old. No Cobham now, nor madam, as you 

loue vs, 

But lohn of Lancashire, and lone his wife. 
Lady Po. Oh tel, what is it that our loue 

can do, 

To pleasure you? for we are bound to you. 60 
Oldca. Nothing but this, that you conceale 

our names; 

So, gentle lady, passe for being spied. 
Lady Po. My heart I leaue, to beare part 
of your griefe. [exit, 

ludge Call the prisoners to the barre. Sir 

Richard Lee, 

What euidence can you bring against thesa 
people, 65 

To proue them guiltie of the murder done? 
Lee. This bloudy towell and these naked 


Beside we found them sitting by the place, 
Where the dead body lay, within a bush. 
ludge What answer you why law should 
not proceed, 70 

According to this euidence giuen in, 
To taxe ye with the penalty of death? 

Old. That we are free from murders very 


And know not how the gentleman was 

1 lust. How came this linnen cloth so 
bloudy then? 75 

Lady Cob. My husband hot with trauelling, 

my lord, 
His nose gusht out a bleeding, that was it. 

2 lust. But wherefore were your sharpe 
edgde kniues vnsheathde? 

Lady Cob. To cut such simple victuall as 

we had. 
ludge Say we admit this answer to those 

articles, 80 

What made ye in so priuate a darke nooke, 
So far remote from any common path, 
As was the thicke where the dead corpes was 

Old. lournying, my lord, from London from 

the terme, 

Downe into Lancashire where we do dwell, 85 
And what with age and trauell being faint, 
We gladly sought a place where we might 


Free from resort of other passengers, 
And so we strayed into that secret corner. 
ludge These are but ambages to driue of 

time, 90 

And linger Justice from her purposde end. 
But who are these? 

72 ye] you M 75 boudy 07 78 wherefore were] 
how came Qff, etc. 81 ye] you QS, etc. 

Enter the Constable, bringing in the Irishman, 

sir lohn of Wrotham, and Doll. 
Const. Stay Judgement, and release those 

For here is hee, whose hand hath done the 


For which they stand indited at the barre, 
This sauage vUlaine, this rude Irish slaue. 96 
His tongue already hath contest the fact, 
And here is witnes to confirme as much. 
sir lohn Yes, my good Lords, no sooner had 

he slaine 

His louing master for the wealth he had, 100 
But I vpon the instant met with him, 
And what he purchacde with the losse of 


With strokes I presently bereau'de him of; 
Some of the which is spent, the rest remaining 
I willingly surrender to the hands 105 

Of old sir Richard Lee, as being his. 
Beside, my Lord ludge, I greet your honor 
With letters from my Lord of Rochester. 

[ddiuers a letter. 
Lee Is this the wolfe whose thirsty throate 

did drinke 

My dearesonnes bloud? artthou the snake no 
He cherisht, yet with enuious piercing sting 
Assaildst him mortally? foule stigmatike, 
Thou venome of the country where thou 


And pestilence of this: were it not that law 
Stands ready to reuenge thy crueltie, us 
Traitor to God, thy master, and to me, 
These hands should be thy executioner. 
ludge Patience, sir Richard Lee, you shall 

haue iustice, 

And he the guerdon of his base desert. 
The fact is odious; therefore, take him hence, 
And being hangde vntil the wretch be dead, 121 
His body after shall be hangd in chaines 
Neare to the place where he did act the murder. 
Irish. Prethee, Lord shudge, let me haue 
mine own clothes, my strouces there, and let 
me be hangd in a with after my cuntry the 
Irish fashion. [exit, 

ludge Go to; away with him. And now, 

sir lohn, 

Although by you this murther came to light, 
And therein you haue well deseru'd, yet vpright 

law, 1 30 

So will not haue you be excusde and quit, 

107 I do greet J/ 108 Winchester Q 1 : con: Q 
110 the cursed snake M 112-14 foule . . of this otn. 
Q ?, etc. 119 om. Q 2, etc. 130 And . . deseru'd 
om. Q3, etc. 130-1 One line QS, etc. 131 So . . 
quit] will not hold you excusde QS, etc. 



For you did rob the Irishman, by which 
You stand attainted here of felony. 
Beside, you haue bin lewd, and many yeares 
Led a lasciuious, vnbeseeming life. 135 

sir lohn Oh but, my Lord, he repents, sir 
John repents, and he wUl mend. 

ludge In hope thereof, together with the 


My Lord of Rochester intreates for you, 
We are content you shall be proued. 140 

sir lohn I thanke your good Lordship. 

Judge These other f alsly here accusde, and 


In perill wrongfully, we in like sort 
Do set at liberty, paying their fees. 

Lord Po. That office, if it please ye, I will 
do, MS 

For countries sake, because I know them well. 
They are my neighbours, therefore of my 

Their charges shall be paide. 

Lee. And for amends, 149 

Touching the wrong vnwittingly I haue done, 

There are a few crownes more for them to 

drinke. [giues them a purse. 

133 attained 01 136 he repents om. 02, etc. 

139 Winchester Q 1 140 contented that you M 

141 good om. R 142-4 Two lines QS, Ff, dir. after 
brought : icrongly rearranged in ihrte lines Jtl 144 
paying.. fees 'om. 02, etc. 145-8 om. QS, etc. 

151 There . . drinke] I giue these few Crownes Q2, dr. 

ludge. Your kindnes merites praise, sir 

Richard Lee: 
So let vs hence. 

[exeunt all but Lord Powesse and Oldcastle. 

Lord Po. But Powesse still must stay. 
There yet remain es a part of that true loue 155 
He owes his noble friend vnsatisfide, 
And vnperformd, which first of all doth bind me 
To gratulate your lordships safe deliuery , 
And then intreat, that since vnlookt for thus 
We here are met, your honor would vouchsafe, 
To ride with me to Wales, where to my power, 
(Though not to quittance those great benentes, 
I haue receiud of you) yet both my house, 
My purse, my seruants, and what else I haue, 
Are all at your command. Deny me not; 1 65 
I know the Bishops hate pursues ye so, 
As theres no safety in abiding here. 

Old. Tis true, my Lord, and God forgiue 
him for it. 

Lord Po. Then, let vs hence: you shall be 

straight prouided 

Of lusty geldings, and once entred Wales, 1 70 
Well may the Bishop hunt, but, spight his 


He neuer more shall haue the game in chace. 



161 to my M : though my Qq, Ff: through my 
tonj. Percy 162 May not acquittance conj. J/ 
166 ye] you M 



True Chronicle Hi 

ftorie of the whole life and death 
of TkomasLord 

As ic hath beene fundrie times pub- 
lively Afadby the'Right Hono- 

rablc the Lord Chamberlaine 
hts Servants. 

Written by W. S. 

Imprinted at London for William tow , 
to be fblde at his houfe neere Holbumecon 
dui^at the figne of the Gunne. 

Q I = Quarto of 1602 

Q2 = 1613 

F 1 = the (third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664 

F2 = (fourth) 1685 

JR = Rowe s Shakespeare, 1709 

Pope supplementary volume to Pope's Shakespeare, 1728 

M = Malone, 1780 

St. = Steevens, ibid. 

Th. = Theobald, ibid. 

S = Simms, 1848 

T = Tyrrell, 1851 

Haz. = Hazlitt, 1852 

Molt. = Moltke, 1869 

pr. ed. -- present editor 




Old Cromwell, a Black-smith of Putney. 
Yong Thomas Cromwell his son. 
Hodge, Will and Tom, old Cromwell's ser 

Earle of Bedford and his Host. 
Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. 
Sir Christopher Hales. 
Cardinal Wolsey. 
Sir Thomas Moor. 
Gardiner Bishop of Winchester. 
Sir Ralph Sadler. 
M. Bouser a Merchant. 
Banister, a broken Merchant and his wife. 

Bagot, a cruel covetous Broker. 

Friskiball a Florentine Merchant. 

The Governours of the English house at 


States and Officers of Bononia. 
Good-man Seely and his wife Joan. 


A Post. 


Ushers and servants. 

Lieutenant of the Tower. 

Two Citizens. 

Two Merchants.} l 

(Ad I. SCENE I. Putney. The entrance of 

a smiths shop.} 
Enter three Smithes, Hodge and two other, old 

Cromwels men. 

Hodge. Come, masters, I thinke it be past 
fiue a clock; is it not time we were at worker j 
my old Master heele be stirring anon. 3 

1. I cannot tell whether my old master will 
be stirring or no: but I am sure I can hardly 
take myafternoones nap, for my young Maister 
Thomas, he keepes such a quile in his studie, 
with the Sunne, and the Moone, and the seauen \ 
starres, that I do verily thinke heele read out 
his wits. IO 

Hodge. He skill of the starres! theresgood- 
man Cor of Fulhum, he that carryed vs to the 
strong Ale, where goodie Trundell had her 
maide got with childe: he knowes the 
Starres. Heele tickle you Charles Waine in 
nine degrees. That same man will tell you 
goodie Trundell when her Ale shall miscarie, 
onely by the starres. 18 

2. I, thats a great vertue; indeed I thinke 
Thomas be no body in comparison to him. 

1. Well, maisters, come, shall we to our 

Hodge. I, content; first lets take our morn 
ings draught, and then to worke roundly. 24 

2. I, agreed; goe in, Hodge. [Exit omnes. 

lAdd.Fl Act I. dc. add. M 1-3 Verse Qq, Fl,dh: 
after clock, worke 4 1 .] Will J/: so 7. 21 7-25 Verse 
<jq 10 you OM. Q ~ J , etc. 19, 25 2.] Turn M 

(SCENE II. The same.} 
Enter young Cromwell. 
Crom. Good morrow, morne, I doe salute 

thy brightnesse. 

The night seemes tedious to my troubled soule, 
Whose black obscuritie binds in my minde 
A thousand sundry cogitations: 
And now Aurora, with a liuely dye, 5 

Addes comfort to my spirit that mountes on 


Too high indeede, my state being so meane. 
My study, like a minerall of golde, 
Makes my hart proude, wherein my hopes 


My bookes is all the wealth I do possesse, to 

[Hers within they must beate with their 


And vnto them I haue ingaged my hart. 
learning, how deuine thou seemes to me: 
Within whose armes is all felicity. 
Peace with your hammers! leaueyour knock* 

ing there: . 

You doe disturbe my study and my rest. 15 
Leaue off, I say, you madde me with the noyse. 

Enter Hodge and the two Men. 

Hodge. Why, how now, Maister Thomas, 
how now? Will you not let vs worke for you? 

Crom. You fret my hart, with making of 
this noise. 20 

Hod. How, fret your hart? I, but Thomas, 

Scene II. etr. add. M 3 binds] breeds S on 
OJH. S 17-27 Verse <Jq, Ff: con; M 


ACT I, Sc. II. 


youle fret your fathers purse if you let vs from 

2. I, this tis for him to make him a gentle 
man. Shal we leaue worke for your musing? 
thats well, I faith; But here comes my olde 
maister now. 2 7 

Enter olde Cromwell. 
Old. Cro. You idle knaues, what, are you 

loytring now? 

No hammers walking and my worke to do! 

What, not a heate among your worke to day? 

Hod. Marrie, sir, your sonne Thomas will 

not let vs worke at all. 3 2 

Old. Cro. Why, knaue, I say, haue I thus 

carkde & car'd 

And all to keepe thee like a gentleman; 

And dost thou let my seruants at their worke, 

That sweat for thee, knaue, labour thus for thee? 

Cro. Father, their hammers doe oSend my 

studie. 37 

Old. Cro. Out of my doores, knaue, if thou 

likest it not. 

I crie you mercie! is your eares so fine? 

I tell thee, knaue, these get when I doe slespe; 

I will not haue my Anuill stand for thee. 41 

Crom. Theres monie, father, I will pay 

your men . [He thro wes money among them. 

Old. Cro. Haue I thus brought thee vp vnto 

my cost, 
In hope that one day thou wouldst releeue my 


And art thou now so lauish of thy coine, 45 
To scatter it among these idle knaues. 

Cro. Father, be patient, and content your 


The time will come I shall hold golde as trash: 
And here I speake with a presaging soule, 
To build a pallace where now this cottage 
standes, 50 

As fine as is King Henries house at Sheene. 
Old Cro. You build a house I you knaue, 

youle be a begger. 

Now, #fore God, all is but cast away, 
That is bestowed vpon this thriftlesse lad. 
Well, had I bound him to some honest trade, 
This had not beene, but it was his mothers 
doing, 56 

To send him to the Vniuersitie. 
How? build a house where now this cottage 

As faire as that at Sheene! (aside) He shall 

not here me. 
A good boy Tom! I con thee thanke Tom! 60 

24 Prff.,- Tom 31 20 working rnni. 31 : talking 
ernij. JI 45 thou] thee (// 50 I'll build //;. 

now out. 31 


Well said Tom! gramarcies Tom! 
Into your worke, knaues; hence, you sausie 
boy. [Exit all but young Cromwell. 

Cro. Why should my birth keepe downe 

my mounting spirit? 
Are not all creatures subiect vnto time: 
To time, who doth abuse the world, 65 

And filles it full of hodge-podge bastardie? 
Theres legions now of beggars on the earth, 
That their originall did spring from Kings: 
And manie Monarkes now whose fathers were 
The riff e -raff e of their age: for Time and For 
tune 70 
Weares out a noble traine to beggerie, 
And from the dunghill minions doe aduance 
To state and marke in this admiring world. 
This is but course, which in the name of Fate 
Is seene as often as it whirles about: 75 
The Riuer Thames, that by our doore doth 


His first beginning is but small and shallow: 
Yet keeping on his course, growes to a sea. 
And likewise Wolsey, the wonder of our age, 
His birth as meane as mine, a Butchers sonne, 
Now who within this land a greater man? 81 
Then, Cromwell, cheer e thee vp, and tell thy 

That thou ruaist Hue to flourish and controule. 

Enter olde Cromwell. 

Old Crom. Tom Cromwell' what, Tom, I 
say! 85 

Crom. Do you call, sir. 

Old Crom. Here is maister Bowser come to 
know if you haue dispatched his petition for 
the Lords of the counsell or no. 

Crom. Father, I haue; please you to call 
him in. 91 

Old Crom. Thats well said, Tom; a good 
lad, Tom. 

Enter Maister Bowser. 

Bow. Now, Maister Cromwell, haue you 
dispatched this petition? 95 

Crom. I haue, sir; here it is: please you 
peruse it. 

Bow. It shall not need; weele read it as we 

go by water: 

And, Maister Cromwell, I haue made a motion 
May do you good, and if you like of it. i oo 
Our Secretarie at Antwarpe, sir, is dead, 
And the Marchants there hath sent to me, 
For to prouide a man fit for the place: 
Now I do know none fitter then your selfe, 
If with your liking it stand, maister Cromwell. 

(VS the cheated world 31 100 an if 31 
it stand with your liking .$' 


.Act- 1, St. III. 

Crom. With all my hart, sir, and I much 

am bound, 106 

In loue and dutie for your kindnesse showne. 

Old Cro. Body of me, Tom, make hast, 
least some body get betweene thee and home, 
Tom. I thanke you, good maister Bowser, I 
thanke you for my boy; I thanke you alwayes, 
I thanke you most hartely, sir. Hoe, a cup of 
Beere there for maister Bowser. 113 

Bow. It shall not need, sir. Maister Crom 
well, will you go? 

Crom. I will attend you, sir. 1 1 6 

Old Crom. Farewell, Tom; God blesse thee, 
Tom; God speed thee, good Tom. 

[Exit omnes. 

(SCENE III. London. A street before Fresco- 

bald's house.} 

Enter Bagot, a Broker, solus. 
Bag, I hope this day is fatall vnto some, 
And by their losse must Bagot seeke to gaine. 
This is the lodging of maister Fryskiball, 
A liberal! Marchant, and a Florentine, 
To whom Banister owes a thousand pound, 5 
A Marchant Banckrout, whose Father was my 


What do I care for pitie or regarde? 
He once was wealthy, but he now is falne, 
And this morning haue I got him arested, 
At the sute of maister Friskiball, 10 

And by this meanes shall I be sure of coyne, 
For dooing this same good to him vnknowne: 
And in good time, see where the marchant 


Enter Fryskiball. 

Bag. Go(o)d morrow to kind maister 

Fri. Go(o)d morrow to your selfe, good 

maister Bagot, 15 

And whats the newes, you are so early stirring: 

It is for gaine, I make no doubt of that. 

Bag. It is for the loue, sir, that I beare to 


When did you see your debter Banister 1 } 
Fri. I promise you, I haue not scene the 
man 20 

This two moneths day; his pouertie is such, 
As I do thinke he shames to see his friends. 
Bag. Why, then, assure your selfe to see 

him straight, 

For at your sute I haue arrested him, 
And here they will be with him presently. 25 

108-13 Yti:\i <fy 
\\\. etc, add. M 

morning have .V 

. l-'f 109 home] honour X Scene 
3 lodging] lodge S ("Itliis 

lu At suit ot tlii.s wane M 

Fry. Arrest him at my sute? you were to 


I know the mans misfortunes to be such, 
As hees not able for to pay the debt, 
And were it knowne to some he were vndone. 

Bag. This is your pittifull hart to thinke it 
so, 30 

But you are much deceaued in Banister. 
Why such as he will breake for fashion sake, 
And vnto those they owe a thousand pound, 
Pay scarce a hundred. 0, sir, beware of him. 
The man is lewdly giuen to Dyce and Drabs, 
Spends all he hath in harlots companies; 36 
It is no mercy for to pitie him. 
I speake the truth of him, for nothing els, 
But for the kindnesse that I beare to you. 

Fry. If it be so, he hath deceiued me much, 
And to deale strictly with such a one as he 
Better seuere then too much lenitie. 42 

But here is Maister Banister himself e, 
And with him, as I take, the officers. 

Enter Banister, his wife, and two officers. 

Ban. maister Friskiball, you haue vndone 

me. 45 

My state was well nigh ouerthrowne before, 
Now altogether downe-cast by your meanes. 
Mist. Ba. O maister Friskiball, pity my 

husbands case. 

He is a man hath liued as well as any, 
Till enuious fortune and the rauenous sea 50 
Did rob, disrobe, and spoile vs of our owne. 
Fri. Mistrisse Banister, I enuie not your 


Nor willingly would I haue vsed him thus, 
But that I here he is so lewdly giuen, 54 

Haunts wicked company, and hath enough 
To pay his debts, yet will not be knowne thereof. 
Ban. This is that damned Broker, that 

same Bagot, 

Whom I haue often from my Trencher fed. 
Ingratefull Villaine for to vse me thus! 
Bag. What I haue said to him is naught 

but truth. 60 

Mi. Ban. What thou hast said springs 

from an enuious hart. 
A Canniball that doth eate men aliuc! 
But here vpon my knee, beleeue me, sir, 
And what I speake, so helpe me God, is true: 
We scarse haue meate to feed our little babes. 
Most of our Plate is in that Brokers hand, 66 
Which, had we mony to dephray our debt, 
thinke, we would not bide that penurie. 

i'2 M swjyests thai n preceding line lias IXIH lul. 
Better seuere] Is better sure conj. St. 44 as I 
take't Ff. ttc. 50 bj knowne] own S 

Ungrateful M OJ A] 6' t>7 debts Q2, tic. 


G 3 

ACT I, Sc. III. 


Be mercif ull, kinde maister Friskiball. 

My husband, children, and my selfe will eate 

But one meale a day, the other will 71 

We keepe and sell 

As part to pay the debt we owe to you: 

If euer teares did pierce a tender minde, 

Be pittifull, let me some fauour finde. 75 

Bag. Be not you so mad, sir, to beleeue hir 

Fri. Go to, I see thou art an enuious man. 
Good misteris Banister, kneele not to me; 
I pray rise vp, you shall haue your desire. 79 
Holde; officers, be gone, theres for your | 


You know you owe to me a thousand pound: ! 
Here, take my hand; if eare God make you 


And place you in your former state againe, 
Pay me: but if still your fortune frowne, 
Vpon my faith Ile neuer aske you crowne: 85 j 
I neuer yet did wrong to men in thrall, 
For God doth know what to my selfe may 

Ban. This vnexpected fauour, vndeserued, 
Doth make my hart bleed inwardly with ioy. 
Nere may ought prosper with me is my owne, 
If I forget this kindnesse you haue showne. 

Mi. Ba. My children in their prayers, both 

night and day, 92 

For your good fortune and successe shall pray. 

Fri. I thanke you both; I pray, goe dine 

with me. 

Within these three dayes, if God giue me leaue, 
I will to Florence, to my natiue home. 9 6 

Bagot, holde; theres a Portague to drinke, 
Although you ill deserued it by your merit. 
Giue not such cruell scope vnto your hart; 
Be sure the ill you do will be requited. 100 
Remember what I say, Bagot; farewell. 
Come, Maister Banister; you shall with me. 
My fare is but simple, but welcome hartily. 

[Exit all but Bagot. 

Bag. A plague goe with you; would you 
had eate your last! 104 

Is this the thankes I haue for all my paines? 
, Confusion light vpon you all for me. 
Where he had wont to giue a score of crownes, 
Doth he now foyst me with a Portague? 
Well, I will be reuenged vpon this Banister. 
lie to his creditors, buie all the debts he owes, 
As seeming that I do it for good will. 1 1 1 
I am sure to haue them at an easie rate, 

71-2 One line Qq, Ff 71-3 Tiro lines, dir. nftfr keep 
Jl, iti: 73 to yon] you M 73-5 oin. Ff, H, POM 
f> oin. tf, f/c. 84 but yet if J/ 85 you] a M 

G is] as S 97 Hold, Bagot It, ttc. 97, 108 Por 
tague] cardecue conj. M 110 debt Ql 

And when tis done, in christendome he staies 


But ile make his hart to ake with sorrow: 
And if that Banister become my debter, 115 
By heauen and earth ile make his plague the 

greater. [Exit Bagot. 

(ACT n.) 

Enter Chorus. 
Cho. Now, gentlemen, imagine that young 

Cromwell (is) 
In Antwarpe Ledger for the English Mar- 


And Banister, to shunne this Bagots hate, 
Hearing that he hath got some of his debts, 
Is fled to Antwarpe, with his wife and children; 
Which Bagot hearing is gone after them: 6 
And thether sendes his billes of debt before, 
To be reuenged on wretched Banister. 
What doth fall out, with patience sit and see, 
A iust requital! of false trecherie. [Exit. 

(SCENE I. Antwerp.} 
Cromwell in his study with bagges of money 

before him casting of account. 
Cro. Thus farre my reckoning doth go 

straight & euen, 

But, Cromwell, this same ployding fits not thee: 
Thy minde is altogether set on trauell. 
And not to liue thus cloystered like a Nunne. 
It is not this same trash that I regard, 5 
Experience is the iewell of my hart. 

Enter a Post. 
Post. I praie, sir, are you readie to dispatch 

Cro. Yes; heres those summes of monie 

you must carie; 

You goe so farre as Frankford, do you not? 
Post. I doe, sir. 10 

Cro. Well, prethie make all the hast thou 


For there be certaine English gentlemen 
Are bound for Venice, and may hapilie want, 
And if that you should linger by the way: 
But in hope that youle make good speed, 15 
Theres two Angels to buie you spurres and 


Po. I thank you, sir ; this will ad winges 
indeede. (Exit Post: 

Cro. Golde is of power would make an 
Eagles speed. 

Act II. <W. -V 1 is MW. <J? Scene 1. i/i: 

2 plodding (j :'. , /<. 11 make then all M 

15 in the Lope M S. D. add. X 18 would] to 



ACT II, St. II. 

Enter Mislris Banister. 
What gentlewoman is this that greeues so 


It seemes she doth adresse her selfe to me. 20 
Mi. Ba. God saue you, sir; praie, is your 

name maister Cromweltt 
Cro. My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentle 
Mi. Ba. Know you not one Bagot, sir, thats 

come to Ant war pel 

Cro. No, trust me, I neuer saw the man, 

But here are billes of debt I haue receiued, 25 | It glads my hart to thinke vpon the slaue; 
Against one Banister, a Marchant fallen into | I hope to haue his bodie rot in prison, 
decaie. i And after here his wife to hang her selfe, 

It greeues my soule to see her miserie, 
But we that liue vnder the worke of fate, 
Maie hope the best, yet knowes not to what state 
Our star res and destinies hath vs asignde. 55 
Fickle is fortune and her face is blinde. (Exit.) 

(SCENE n. A street in Antwerp.} 

Enter Bagot solus. 

Ba. So all goes well; it is as I would haue it. 
Banister he is with the Gouernour 
And shortlie shall haue guiues vpon his heeles. 

Mi. Ba. Into decaie, indeede, long of that 


I am the wife to wofull Banister: 
And by that bloudie villain e am persu'de 
From London here to Antwarpe. 30 

My husband he is in the gouernours handes, 

And all his children die for want of foode. 
The Jewels that I haue brought to Antwarpe 
Are recond to be worth flue thousand pound, 
Which scarcelie stoode me in three hundreth 
pound. 10 

I bought them at an easie kinde of rate; 

And God of heauen knowes how heele deale I care not which way they came by them 
with him. { That sould them me, it comes not neare my hart : 

Now, sir, your hart is framed of milder temper; And least they should be stolne as sure they 

Be mercifull to a distressed soule, are 

And God no doubt will trebell blesse your I thought it meete to sell them here in Ant- 
gaine. 35 [ warpe, '5 

Cro. Good mistris Banister, what I can, I j And so haue left them in the Gouernours hand, 
will, ; Who offers me within two hundreth pound 

In any thing that lies within my power. ' Of all my price. But now no more of that: 

Mi. Ba. O speake to Bagot, that same < I must go see and if my billes be safe, 

wicked wretch, 

The which I sent to maister Cromwell, 

An Angells voyce may mooue a damned diuell. j That if the winde should keepe me on the sea, 
Cro. Why, is he come to Antwarpe, as you ; He might arest him here before I came: 

Mi. Ba. I hard he landed some two houres 

Cro. Well, mistris Banister, assure your 


lie speake to Bagot in your owne behalfe, 
And winne him to all the pittie that I can. 44 
Meane time, to comfort you in your distresse, 
Receiue these Angells to releeue your neede, 
And be assured that what I can effect 
To do you good, no way I will neglect. 

(Enter Cromwell.) 
And in good time, see where he is. God saue 

you sir. 
Cro. And you: pray pardon me, I know you 


Bag. It may be so, sir, but my name is 
Bagot, 25 

The man that sent to you the billes of debt. 
Cro. 0, the man that persues Banister. 
Here are the billes of debt you sent to me: 

Mi. Ba. That mighty God, that knowes As for the man, you know best where he is. 

each mortalles hart, 

It is reported you haue a flintie hart, 

Keepe you from trouble, sorrow, griefe, and A minde that will not stoope to anie pittie, 


50 ! An eye that knowes not how to shed a teare, 
[Exit Mistris Banister. : A hand thats alwaies open for reward; 

Crom. Thankes, courteous woman, for thy 
hartie praier. 

25, 26 Benin Are, One M 20 into] to M :U 2 
ti<!/in He. Of M 30-2 Antwerp, where my husband 
Lies in the governor's hands : the God of Heaven He 
inly knows how he will itc. S, follomd li/ Molt, with 
i-li'iiii/i and God -M I will to Eiagot speak .S' owne 
MI. S t Mt. 

But, maister Bagot, would you be ruled by m, 

You should turne all these to the contrarie. 35 
Your hart should still haue feeling of remorse, 

54 know FS, etc. 55 have F2, etc. S. I). Exit 
udd.R Scenell.ete.udd.31 8 that om. Q2, 

f/c. have with me brought M 12 not much which 
M 20 sent before to M S. 1). add. li '-'7 O, 
you're the M 


Acr II, Sc. II. 


Your minde according to your state be liberall 
To those that stand in neede and in distresse; 
Your hand to heipe them that do stand in want, 
Rather then with your poyse to holde them 

downe; 4 

For euerie ill turne show your selfe more kinde: 

Thus should I doe; pardon, I speake my minde. 

Bag. I, sir, you speake to here what I would 


But you must liue, I know, as well as I: 
I know this place to be extortion, 45 

And tis not for a man to keepe him, 
But he must lie, cog with his dearest friend, 
And as for pittie, scorne it, hate all conscience. 
But yet I doe commend your wit in this, 
To make a show of what I hope you are not; 
But I commend you and tis well done: 51 
This is the onelie way to bring your gaine. 
Cro. My gaine! I had rather chaine me to 

an ore, 

And like a slaue there toile out all my life, 
Before ide liue so base a slaue as thou: 55 
I, like an hipocrite, to make a show 
Of seeming vertue and a diuell within! 
No, Bagot, would thy conscience were as 


Poore Banister nere had beene troubled here. 
Bag. Nay, good maister Cromwell; be not 

angrie, sir. 60 

I know full well you are no such man; 
But if your conscience were as white as Snow, 
It will be thought that you are other wise. 

Cro. Will it be thought that I am other wise? 
Let them that thinke so know they are 

deceiu'de. 65 

Shall Cromwell Hue to haue his faith miscon- 


Antwarpe, for all the wealth within thy Towne, 
I will not stay here not two houres longer. 
As good lucke semes, my accountes are all 

made euen; 

Therefore ile straight vnto the treasurer. 70 
Bagot, I know youle to the gouernour; 
Commend me to him, say I am bound to tra- 


To see the fruitefull partes of Italie, 
And as you euer bore a Christian minde, 
Let Banister some fauour of you finde. 75 
Bag. For your sake, sir, ile helpe him all 

I can 
To starue his hart out eare he gets a groate. 


So, maister Cromwell, doe I take my leaue, 
For I must straight vnto the gouernour. 

[Exit Bagot. 

Cro. Farewell, sir; pray you remember what 
I said. 80 

No, Cromwell, no; thy hart was nere so bace, 
To liue by falshoode or by brokerie! 
But "t falles out well, I little it repent; 
Hereafter, time in trauell shalbe spent. 84 

Enter Hodge, his fathers man. 

Hod. Your sonne Thomas, quoth you: I 
haue beene T ho mast.' I had thought it had 
beene no such matter to a gone by water: for 
at Putnaie ile go you to Parish -garden for two 
pence, sitte as still as may be, without any 
wagging or ioulting in my guttes, in a little 
boate too: heere wee were scarce foure mile 
in the great greene water, but I thinking to 
goe to my afternoones vnchines, as twas my 
manner at home but I felt a kinde of rising 
in my guttes. At last one a the Sailers spying 
of me, be a good cheer e, sayes hee, set downe 
thy victualles, and vppe with it, thou hast 
nothing but an Eele in thy belly. Well toote 
went I, to my victtualles went the Sailers, and 
thinking me to bee a man of better experience 
then any in the shippe, asked mee what Woode 
the shippe was made of: they all swore I tould 
them as right as if I had beene acquainted with 
the Carpenter that made it. At last wee grewe 
neere lande, and I grewe villanous hungrie, 
went to my bagge: the diuell a bitte there was. 
The Sailers had tickled mee; yet I cannot 
blame them: it was a parte of kindnesse, for 
I in kindnesse toulde them what Woode the 
shippe was made of, and they in kindnesse 
eate vp my victualles, as indeede one good 
turne asketh another. Well, would I could 
finde my maister Thomas in this Dutch Towne; 
he might put some English Beare into my 
bellie. us 

Cro. What, Hodge, my fathers man? by my 

hand, welcome! 

How doth my father? whats the newes at 
home? 1 1 7 

Hod. Maister Thomas, God, maister 
Thomas, your hand, gloue and all. This is to 
giue you to vnderstanding that your father is 
in health, and Alice Downing here hath sent 
you a Nutmeg, & Besse Makewater a race of 
Ginger; my fellow Will & Tom hath between 

:t9 stand] sink 6' 45 exturtious cotij. M : ex- 80 you mil. .V I] I've S 8:! But falks <J I ','1 
turtiunous Molt. 40 keep safe here y 4?, etc. 5:> scarce sonfc four /Y miles 7i, </c. M vndiinesl 
your] you T 53 My om. S 58 would] if Q 2. di: ' Luncliines R : mmdicon M M but I oni. M W 
Wgood out. .V 61 well that you Q3, etc. 08 here me 02, etc.: 10 1 100 and went M 111 Wuuld 
lull two Qi>, etc. & D. Aside udd. M \ 1, could 1 y?- f/i <.,;: M K>:j Fellows R 




them sent you a dozen of pointes, & good man 
Tolle of the Goate a paire of mittons; my selfe 
came in person: and this is all the newes. 126 

Cro. Gramarsie, good Hodge, and them art 

welcome to me, 

But in as ill a time thou comest as may be: 
For I am traueling into Italic. 
What saist thou, Hodge! wilt thou beare me 
companie? 1 30 

Hodge. Will I beare thee companie, Tom? 
What tell'st me of Italie? were it to the furthest 
part of Flaunders, I would goe with thee, Tom. 
I am thine in all weale and woe, thy owne to 
commaund. What, Tom! I haue passed the 
rigorous waues of Neptunes blastes; I tell you, 
Thomas, I haue beene in the danger of the 
flouds; and when I haue seene Boreas beginne 
to plaie the Ruffin with vs, then would I downe 
of my knees and call vppon Vulcan. 140 

Cro. And why vpon him? 

Hod. Because, as this same fellow Neptune 
is God of the Seas, so Vulcan is Lord ouer the 
Smithes, and therefore, I, being a Smith, 
thought his Godhead would haue some care 
yet of me. 146 

Crom. A good conceit, but tell (me), hast 
thou dined yet? 

Hod. Thomas, to speake the truth, not a 
bit yet I. 

Crom. Come, go with me; thou shalt haue 
cheere good store. 149 

And farewell, Antwarpe, if I come no more. 

Hodg. I follow thee, sweet Tom, I follow 
thee. [Exit omnes. 

(SCENE HI. Another street in the same.} 
Enter the Gouernour of the English house, 
Bagot, Banister, his wife, and two officers. 
Gouer. Is Cromwell gone then, say you, 

maister Bagotl 

What dislike, I pray? what was the cause? 
Bag. To tell you true, a wilde braine of his 

Such youth as they cannot see when they are 


He is all bent to trauaile, thats his reason, 5 
And doth not loue to eate his bread at home. 

What do you say? will you take my prise? 
Bag. 0, sir, you offer too much vnderfoote. 
Gou. TLs but two hundred pound betweene 

vs, man. 

Whats that in paiment of fine thousand pound? 
Bag. Two hundred pound! birladie, sir, tis 

great: 15 

Before I got so much, it made me sweat. 
Gou. Well, Maister Bagot, lie proffer you 


You see this Marchant, maister Banister, 
Is going now to prison at your sute. 
His substance all is gone; what would you 

haue? 20 

Yet in regarde I knew the man of wealth 
Neuer dishonest dealing, but such mishaps 
Hath falne on him, may light on me or you 
There is two hundred pound betweene vs; 24 
We will deuide the same: He giue you one, 
On that condition you will set him free: 
His state is nothing, that you see your selfe, 
And where naught is, the King must lose his 


Bag. Sir, sir, you speake out of your loue, 

Tis foolish loue, sir, sure, to pittie him: 30 

Therefore, content your selfe; this ismy minde: 

To do him good I will not bate a penie, 

Ban. This is my comfort: though thou 

doost no good, 

A mighty ebbe followes a mighty floud. 
Mi. Ba. thou base wretch, whom we 

haue fostered 35 

Euen as a Serpent for to poyson vs, 
If God did euer right a womans wrong, 
To that same God I bend and bow my heart, 
To let his heauy wrath fall on thy head, 
By whome my hopes and ioyes are butchered. 
Bag. Alas, fond woman, I praie thee, praie 

thy worst; 41 

The Fox fares better still when he is curst. 

Enter Maister Bowser, a Marchant. 
Go. Maister Bowser! your welcome, sir, 

from England. 
Whats the best newes? how doth all our 

Bow. They are all well and do commend 

them to you; 45 

Gou. Well, good fortune with him, if the Theres letters from your brother and your 

man be gone. 
We hardly shall finde such a one as he, 

To fit our turnes; his dealings were so honest. 
But now, sir, for your lewels that I haue, 10 

137 in danger Ff, ttc. 140 of) a. Q ?. rtc. 147 
tell me Q ?. tfr.: tell Ql Scene III. ///. <M. M 

L> In what dislike, I pray you )/ 4 as he can't M 
8 such a man Ff, R 


So faire you well, sir; I must take my leaue. 
My hast and businesse doth require such. 

11 say? what, will OS, etc. 
ow von 31 

24 us two 31 29 

Sir, sir, I know yon 31 O Sir . . love, but know .S' 
a<) heany <?</ "41 I prethee Q ,?. tie. 43 your 

(Jl : you're F :' 44 and how 31 47 falie <j 1 

48 such] so Qi>, Ff, 31 : it so S 




Go, Before you dine, sir? What, go you 

out of towne? 

Bow. I, faith, vnlesse I here some newes in 
towne, 5 | 

I must away; there is no remedie. 

Gon. Maister Bowser, what is your busines? j 

may I know it? 

Bow. You may, sir, and so shall all the Cittie. 
The King of late hath had his treasurie rob'd, 
And of the choysest iewelles that he had: 55 i 
The value of them was some seauen thousand 

The fellow that did steale these iewels, he is 


And did conf esse that for three hundred pound 
He sould them to one Bagot dwelling in 


Now Bagots fled, and, as we here, to Antwarpe, 
And hether am I come to seeke him out; 61 
And they that first can tell me of his newes 
Shall haue a hundred pound for their reward. 
Ba(ri). Ho wiust is God to right the innocent. 
Gou. Maister Bowser, you come in happie 
time: 65 

Here is the villaine Bagot that you seeke, 
And all those iewels haue I in my handes. 
Officers, looke to him, hould him fast. 
Bag. The diuell ought me a shame, and now 

hath paide it. 

Bow. Is this that Bagot! fellowes, beare 
him hence. 70 

We will not now stand for his replie. 
Lade him with Yrons; we will haue him tride 
In England, where his villanies are knowne. 
Bag. Mischiefe, confusion, light vpon you 


hang me, drowne me, let me kill my selfe! 
Let go my armes; let me run quick to hell. 76 
Bow. Away, beare him away; stop the 
slaues mouth. [They carry him away. 
Mi. Ba. Thy workes are infinite, great God 

of heauen. 

Gou. I hard this Bagot was a wealthie fellow. 
Bow. He was indeed, for when his goods 
were zeased, 80 

Of Iewels, coine, and Plate within his house, 
Was found the value of flue thousand pound; 
His furniture fullie worth halfe so much, 
Which being all strainde for, for the King, 
He francklie gaue it to the Antwarpe mar- 
chants, 85 

And they againe, out of their bountious minde, 
Hath to a brother of their companie, 

53 Prefix Bow. brfoir 54 Qq may so, sir .V 56 

some oni. Q2, etc. 57 he om. 03, c/c. 68 Here, 
officers M C9 now he hath Ff, R 71 stand here | 

for 31 

83 worth fully S 
, Ff: distrained for the M 

84 strainde for the 
87 Have Ff. c/>\ 

A man decaide by fortune of the Seas, 
Giuen Bagots wealth, to set him vp againe, 
And keepe it for him: his name is Banister. 90 
Gou. Maister Bowser, with this happie 


You haue reuiued two from the gates of death: 
This is that Banister, and this his wife. 

Bow. Sir, I am glad my fortune is so good, 

To bring such tidings as may comfort you. 95 

Ban. You haue giuen life vnto a man 

deemed dead, 

For by these newes, my life is newlie bred. 
Mi. Ba. Thankes to my God, next to my 

Soueraigne King, 
And last to you that these good hopes doth 


Gou. The hundred pound I must receiue as 
due 100 

For finding Bagot, I freelie giue to you. 
Bow. And, Maister Banister, if so you 

He beare you companie, when you crosse the 

Ban. If it please you, sir; my companie is 

but meane. 

Stands with your liking, lie waite on you. 105 
Gou. I am glad that all things do accorde 

so well: 

Come, Maister Bowser, let vs in to dinner: 
And, Misterisse Banister, be mery, woman 1 
Come, after sorrow now lets cheere your spirit; 
Kr.aues haue their due, and you but what you 
merit. [Exit omnes. 

(Acr HI. SCENE I. The principal bridge at 


Enter Cromwell and Hodge in their shirtes, and 
without Hattes. 

Hod. Call yee this seeing of fashions? 
Marrie, would I had staide at Putnaie still. 
0, Maister Thomas, we are spoiled, we are 

Crorn. Content thee, man, this is but for 
tune. 6 

Hodg. Fortune; a plague of this Fortune 
makes me go wetshod; the roagues would not 
leaue me a shooe to my feete. For my hoase, 
they scorned them with their heeles; but for 
my Dublet and Hatte, Lord, they imbrased 
me, and vnlased me, and tooke away my 
cloathes, and so disgraced me. 1 3 

91 Good Master S this most happy .V 9*.) 

hopes doth] newes doe QS, etc. Act III. Scene I. 
etc. add. M 1-4 Verne Qq, Ff, die. fashions, still 

7 Fortune, it makes Ff, f/c. 9-13 For my . . dis 

graced ine] /%,</"(' .V. ''//, host-, heels, hat, ino. me, 
cloatlis, me 



ACT III, Sc. I. 

Crom. Well, Hodge, what remedie? What 
shift shall we make now? 15 

Hodge. Naie, I know not. For begging I 
am naught, for stealing worse: by my troth, I 
must euen fall to my olde trade, to the Hammer 
and the Horse heeles againe: but now the worst 
is, I am not acquainted with the humor of the 
horses in this countrie, whether they are not 
coultish, giuen much to kicking, or no; for 
when I haue one legge in my hand, if he should 
vp andlaie tother on my chops, I were gone: 
there laie I, there laie Hodge. 25 

Crom. Hodge, I beleeue thou must worke 
for vs both. 

Hodge. O, Maister Thomas, haue not I tolde 
you of this? haue not I manie a time and often 
said, Tom, or Maister Thomas, learne to make 
a Horse-shooe, it will be your owne another 
day: this was not regarded. Harke you, 
Thomas, what doe you call the fellowes that 
robd vs? 

Crom. The Bandetti. 35 

Hod. The Bandetti, doe you call them? I 
know not what they are called here, but 1 am 
sure wee call them plaine theeues in England. 
Thomas, that we were now at Putnay, at the 
ale there. 40 

Cro. Content thee, man; here set vp these 

two billes, 

And let vs keepe our standing on the bridge: 
The fashion of this countrie is such, 
If any stranger be oppressed with want, 
To write the maner of his miserie, 45 

And such as are disposed to succour him, 
Will doe it. What, hast thou set them vp? 

Hod. I, their vp; God send some to reade 
them, and not onelie to reade them, but also 
to looke on vs; and not altogether to looke 
on vs, 51 

[One standes at one end, and one at tother. 
But to releeue vs. colde, colde, colde. 

Enter Friskiball, the Marchant, and reades the 

Fris. Whats here? two Englishmen rob'd 

by the Bandetti! 

One of them seemes to be a gentleman. 
Tis pittie that his fortune was so hard, 55 
To fall into the desperate handes of theeues. 
He question him of what estate he is. 
God saue you, sir; are you an Englishman? 

Cro. I am, sir, a distressed Englishman. 

Fri. And what are you, my friend? 60 

:M on] of I :!">, 36 Bandetto (Jo 39 Tom Ff, 
47 What, Hodge, hast Jf 48-51 lYm Qq, 
50 ty out. Ff, (h\ 53 and roWd * 

Ff: con: M 

Hod. Who? I, sir? by my troth, I do not 
know my self what I am now, but, sir, I was 
a smith, sir, a poore Farrier of Putnay. Thats 
my maister, sir, yonder. I was robbed for his 
sake, sir. 65 

Fri. I see you haue beene met by the 

And therefore neede not aske how you came 


But, Friskiball, why doost thou question them 
Of their estate and not releeue their neede? 
Sir, the coine I haue about me is not much: 70 
Theres sixteene Duckets for to cloath your 


Theres sixteene more to buie your diet with, 
And thers sixteene to paie for your horse 


Tis all the wealth, you see, my purse possesses, 
But if you please for to enquire me out, 75 
You shall not want for ought that I can doe. 
My name is Friskiball, a Florence Marchant, 
A man that alwayes loued your nation. 
Crom. This vnexpected fauour at your 

Which God doth know if euer I shall requite 

it 80 

Necessitie makes me to take your bountie, 
And for your gold can yeeld you naught but 


Your charitie hath helpt me from dispaire; 
Your name shall still be in my hartie praier. 
Fri. It is not worth such thankes. Come 

to my house; 85 

Your want shall better be releeu'd then thus. 

Crom. I pray, excuse me; this shall well 


To beare my charges to Bononia, 
Whereas a noble Earle is much distressed: 
An Englishman, Russell, the Earle of Bedford, 
Is by the French King solde vnto his death: 9* 
It may fall out, that I may doe him good; 
To saue his life, He hazard my hart blood. 
Therefore, kinde sir, thankes for your liberall 

I must be gone to aide him; ther's no shift. 

Fri. lie be no hinderer to so good an acte. 
Heauen prosper you in that you goe about! 
If Fortune bring you this way backe againe, 
Pray let me see you: so I take my leaue; 99 
All good a man can wish, I doe bequeath. 

[Exit Friskiball. 
Crom. All good that God doth send light 

on your head; 

Theres few such men within our climate bred. 
How say you now, Hodge? is not this good 

fortune? i3 

66 Bandetto Qy 80 it out. J/ 103 now out, M 


ACT III. Sr. I. 


Hod. How say you? He tell you what, 
maister Thomas; if all men be of this Gentle- 
mans minde, Ms keepe our standings vpon 
this Bridge: we shall get more here with 
begging in one day, then I shall with making 
Horshoes in a whole yeare. 109 

Crom. No Hodge, we must begone vnto 


There to releeue the noble Earle of Bedford: 
Where, if I faile not in my policie, 
I shall deceiue their subtile treacherie. 

Hodge. Naye, lie follow you. God blesse 
vs from the theeuing Bandettoes againe. 115 

[Exit omnes. 

(SCENE n. Bononia. A room in an hotel.} 

Enter Bedforde and his Hoast. 
Bed. Am I betraide? was Bedforde borne to 


By such base slaues in such a place as this? 
Haue I escaped so many times in France, 
So many battailes haue I ouer passed, 
And made the French stirre when they hard 

my name; 5 

And am I now betraide vnto my death? 
Some of their harts bloud first shall pay 

for it. 
Hoa. They do desire, my Lord, to speake 

with you. 
Bed. The traitors doe desire to haue my 

bloud, 9 

But by my birth, my honour, and my name, 
By all my hopes, my life shall cost them 


Open the door; ile venter out vpon them, 
And if I must die, then ile die with honour. 
Hoa. Alas, my Lord, that is a desperate 

They haue begirt you round about the 

house: 15 

Their meaning is to take you prisoner, 
And so to send your bodie vnto France. 
Bed. First shall the Ocean be as drie as 


Before aliue they send me vnto France: 
lie haue my bodie first bored like a Siue, 20 
And die as Hector, gainst the Mirmidons, 
Bare France shall boast Bedfordes their pri 
Trecherous France, that, gainst the law of 


Hath here betraide thy enemie to death. 
But be assured, my bloud shalbe reuenged 25 
Vpon the best Hues that remaines in France. 

Enter a Seruant. 

Stand backe, or els thou run'st vpon thy death. 
Mes. Pardon, my Lord; I come to tell your 


That they haue hired a Neapolitan, 
Who by his Oratorie hath promised them, 30 
Without the shedding of one drop of bloud, 
Into their handes safe to deliuer you, 
And therefore craues none but himselfe may 

And a poore swaine that attendes on him. 

[Exit seruant. 

Bed. A Neapolitan"! bid him come in. 35 
Were he as cunning in his Eloquence 
As Cicero, the famous man of Rome, 
His wordes would be as chaffe against the 


Sweete tong'd Vlisses that made Aiaxe mad, 
Were he and his toung in this speakers head, 
Aliue he winnes me not; then, tis no conquest 

dead. 41 

Enter Cromwell like a Neopolitan, and 

Hodge with him. 

Cro. Sir, are you the maister of the house? 
Hoa. I am, sir. 
Cro. By this same token you must leaue 

this place, 

And leaue none but the Earle and I together, 
And this my Pessant here to tend on vs. 46 
Hoa. With al my hart. God grant, you doe 
some good. 

[Exit Hoast. Cromwell shuts the dore. 
Bed. Now, sir, whats your will with me? 
Cro. Intends your honour not to yeeld your 


Bed. No, good man goose, not while my 
sword doth last. 50 

Is this your eloquence for to perswade me? 
Cro. My Lord, my eloquence is for to saue 


I am not, as you iudge, a Neopolitan, 
But Cromwell, your seruant, and an English 

Bed. How? Cromwell not my Farriers sonne? 

Cro. The same, sir, and am come to succour 

you. 56 

Hod. Yes, faith, sir; and I am Hodge, your 

poore Smith. Many a time and oft haue I 

shooed your Dapper Gray. 

Bed. And what auailes it me that thou art 
here? 60 

Cro. It may auaile, if youle be rul'd by me. 
My Lord, you know the men of Mantua 

10-1-9 Verse Q(i, Ff: con 
Scene II. etc. add. M 

M 115 Bamletti Ff \ 20 S. D. after 27 Qq, Ff: con: M 

5 skir cortj. St. I Ff, div. Smith 59 dapple-grey 31 


57-9 Vtrse Qq, 



And these Bononians are at deadlie strife, 
And they, my Lord, both loue and honour you. 
Could you but get out of the Mantua port, 65 
Then were you safe dispite of all their force. 
Bed. Tut, man, thou talkest of thinges 


Dost thou not see that we are round beset? 
How, then, is it possible we should escape? 69 
Crom. By force we cannot, but by pollicie. 
Put on the apparell here that Hodge doth 

And giue him yours the States, they know you 


For, as I thinke, they neuer saw your face 
And at a watch-word must I call them in, 
And will desire, that we safe may passe 75 
To Mantua, where lie say my businesse lies. 
How doth your Honor like of this deuise? 
Bed. wondrous good! But wilt thou 

venter, Hodge"! 
Hod. Will I? 

noble Lord, I do accorde, So 

In anything I can, 
And do agree, to set thee free, 
Do fortune what she can. 

Bed. Come, then, lets change our apparrell 


Crom. Goe, Hodge; make hast, least they 

chance to call. 85 

Hod. I warrant you ile fit him with a sute. 

[Exit Earle & Hodge. 

Crom. Heauens graunt this pollicie doth 

take successe, 

And that the Earle may safelie scape away. 
And yet it greeues me for this simple wretch, 
For feare they should offer him violence: 90 
But of two euils, tis best to shun the greatest, 
And better is it that he hues in thrall, 
Then such a Noble Earle as he should fall. 
Their stubborne harts, it may be, will relent, 
Since he is gone to whom their hate is 
bent. 95 

My Lord, haue you dispatched? 

Enter Bedford like the Clowne, and Hodge in 

his cloake and his Hat. 
Bed. How doost thou like vs, Cromwellf is 
it well? 

Crom. 0, my Lord, excellent; Hodge, how 

doost feele thy selfe? 100 

Hodg. How do I feele my selfe? why, as 

a Noble man should do. 0, how I feele honor 

come creeping on I My Nobilitie is wonderfull 

75 we two safe QS, etc. 70-83 Tiro linen Qq, Ff. 

Jii: nftfr I can 84 and change we our S 85 

.should chance V 90 fear lest they M 92 line 
Q2. etc. 93 lie] this S 99 my good Lord, Ff, 

etc. 101-7 Verse Qq, Ff 

melancholic : Is it not most Gentleman like to 
be melancholic? icj 

Crom. Yes, Hodge; now goe sitte downe in 
his studie, and take state vpon thee. 

Hodge. I warrant you, my Lord; let me 
alone to take state vpon me: but harke you, 
my Lord, do you feele nothing bite about you? 

Bed. No, trust me, Hodge. m 

Hod. I, they know they want their pasture ; 
its a strange thing of this vermine, they dare 
not meddle with Nobilitie. 

Crom. Go, take thy place, Hodge; lie call 

them in. 115 

[Hodge sits in the study, and Cromwell 

ailles in the States. 

All is done, enter and if you please. 

Enter the States and Officers, with Halberts, 
Gou. What, haue you wone him? will he 

yeelde himselfe? 
Crom. I haue, an't please you, and the quiet 


Doth yeeld himselfe to be disposed by you. 
Gou. Giue him the monie that we promised 
him; 120 

So let him go, whether it please himselfe. 

Crom. My businesse, sir, lies vnto Mantua, 
Please you to giue me safe conduct thether. 
Gou. Goe and conduct him to the Mantua 


And see him safe deliuered presently. 125 
[Exit Cromwell and Bedford. 
Goe draw the curtaines, let vs see the Earle. 
O, he is writing; stand apart awhile. 

Hodge. Fellow William, I am not as I haue 
beene: I went from you a Smith, I write to you 
as a Lord. I am, at this present writing, among 
the Polonyan Sasiges. I do commend my Lord 
ship to Raphe & to Roger, to Bridget & to 
Doritie, & so to all the youth of Putnay. 

Gou. Sure, these are the names of English 
Noblemen, 134 

Some of his speciall friends, to whom he writes: 
But stay, he doth adresse himselfe to sing. 

[Here he sings a song. 
My Lord, I am glad you are so frolick and so 


Beleeue me, noble Lord, if you knew all, 
Youde change your merrie vaine to sudden 


Hodg. I change my merrie vaine? no, thou 
Bononian, no. 140 

I am a Lord and therefore let me goe 

106 ?o and sit S 107 his! the Q 5, Fl, 31: 

thy F2. /,'. Pope. 112 their old pasture Q2. etc. 

lit') Now all M 118 an't Q S : ante Ql 121 it] 
lie Ff 123 a safe M 131 sausages jtf : Casiges 
Qq, Ff: cossacks conj. Percy 


An III, So. II. 


And doe defie thee and thy Sasigis; 
Therefore stand off, and come not neere my 

Gou. My Lord, this iesting cannot serue 

your turne. 

Hod. Doost thinke, thou blacke Bononyan 
beast, '45 

That I doe floute, doe gibe, or iest, 
No, no, thou Beare-pot, know that I, 
A noble Earle, a Lord pardie 

A Trumpet soandes. 
Gou. What meanes this Trumpets sound? 

Enter a Messenger. 

Cit. One come from the States of Mantua. 

Gou. What would you with vs? speake, thou 

man of Mantua. 1 5 1 

The Earle of Bedford, being safe in Mantua, 
Desires Cromwells companie into France, 176 
To make requitall for his courtesie: 
But Cromwell doth denie the Earle his sute, 
Andtelles him that those parteshe meant to see, 
He had not yet set footing on the land, 180 
And so direct lie takes his way to Spaine: 
The Earle to France, and so they both do part. 
Now let yourthoughtes, as swift asisthe winde, 
Skip some few yeares, that Cromwell spent in 


And now imagine him to be in England, 1 85 
I Seruant vnto the maister of the Roules, 
; Where in short time he there beganne to florish. 
An houre shall show you what few yeares did 
cherish. [Exit. 

To let you know the Noble Earle of Bedford 
Is safe within the towne of Mantua, 
And willes you send the pessant that you haue, 
Who hath deceiued your expectation; 156 
Or els the States of Mantua haue vowed 
They will recall the truce that they haue made, 
And not a man shall stirre from forth your 


That shall returne, vnlesse you send him backe. 
Go. this misfortune, how it mads my 

hart! 1 61 

The Neapolitan hath beguiled vs all. 
Hence with this foole! what shall we do with 

The Earle being gone? a plague vpon it all. 


London. A room in Sir Christo 
pher Hales's house.} 
The Musick playes, they bring out the banquet. 
Enter Sir Christopher Hales, and Crom 
well, and two seruants. 
Hales. Come, sirs, be carefull of your 

maisters credit, 

And as our bountie now exceedes the figure 
Of common entertainment: so do you 
With lookes as free as is your maisters soule, 
Giue formall welcome to the thronged tables, 
That shall receiue the Cardinals followers 6 
And the attendants of the Lord Chancellor. 
' But all my care, Cromwell, depends on thee. 
i Thou art a man differing from vulgar forme, 

Hod. No, ile assure you, I am no Earle, but ' And by how much thy spirit is ranckt boue 

these 10 

In rules of Arte, by so much it shines brighter 
By trauell whose obseruance pleades his merit, 
In a most learned, yet vnaffecting spirit. 
Good Cromwell, cast an eye of faire regarde 
Bout all my house, and what this ruder flesh, 
Through ignorance, or wine, do miscreate, 1 6 
Salue thou with curtesie: if welcome want, 
Full bowles and ample banquets will seeme 


Crom. Sir, what soeuer lies in me, 
Assure (you), I will shew my vtmost dutie. 20 

[Exit Crom. 
Hales. About it, then; the Lords will 

straight be here. 
Cromwell, thou hast those parts would rather 

The seruice of the state, then of my house. 

a smith, sir; 165 

One Hodge, a smith at Putnay, sir; 
One that hath gulled you, that hath bored you, 

Gou. Away with him! take hence the foole 

you came for. 
Hod. I, sir, and ile leaue the greater foole 

with you. 

Mes. Farewell, Bononians. Come, friend, 

a long with me. 1 70 

Hod. My friend, afore; my Lordship will 

follow thee. [Exit. 

Gou. Well, Mantua, since by thee the Earle 

is lost, 
Within few dayes I hope to see thee crosd. 

[Exit omnes. 

Enter Chorus. 

Cho. Thus farre you see how Cromwelles 
fortune passed. 

142 I do M Casiges Ff 147-8 One line On : eorr. 
Ff S. D. nflir 149 Qq. Ff: con: 3f 150 is come 
M 105-7 Prone M 

187 lie there Q 2, etc.: where he 01 188 nourish 
rotti. St. Scene III. etc. add. M 5 former 1 

7 the great Lord Q?, dc. 11 /:<7. trauell Qq, Ff: 
con: M 12 his] thv N 13 unaffected ,S' 19 Sir. 
as to M 20 you tuld. Q2 21 striaght Q J 



ACT 1 1 1, St. III. 

I looke vpon thee with a louing eye, 
That one day will prefer thy destinie. 

Enter Messenger. 
Sir, the Lords be at hand. 


They are welcome; bid Cromwell 
straight attend vs, 

And looke you all things be in perfect readi- 

The Musicke layes. Enter Cardinall Wolsay, 

Sir Thomas Moore and Gardiner. 
Wol. 0, sir Christopher, 
You are too liberal!. What, a banket to? 3 
Hal. My Lordes, if wordes could show the 

ample welcome, 

That my free hart affordes you, I could then 
Become a prater, but I now must deale 
Like a feast Polititian with your Lordshippes: 
Deferre your welcome till the banket end, 35 
That it may then salue our defect of faire: 
Yet Welcome now and all that tend on you. 
Wol. Thankes to the kinde maister of the 

Come and sit downe; sit downe, sir Thomas 


Tis strange, how that we and the Spaniard differ . 
Their dinner is our banquet after dinner, 41 
And they are men of actiue disposition. 
This I gather: that by their sparing meate 
Their bodie is more fitter for the warres, 
And if that famine chance to pinch their mawes, 
Being vsde to fast it breed es lesse paine. 46 
Hal. Fill me some Wine: He answere Car 
dinall Wolsay. 

My Lord, we English are of more freer soules 
Then hungerstarued and ill complexioned 


They that are rich in Spaine spare bellie foode, 
To deck their backes with an Italian hoode, 51 
And Silkes of Ciuill: And the poorest Snake, 
That feedes on Lemmons, Pilchers, and neare 


His pallet with sweete flesh, will beare a case 
More fat and gallant then his starued face. 55 
Pride, the Inquisition, and this bellie euill, 
Are, in my iudgement, Spaines three headed 


Mo. Indeede it is a plague vnto their nation, 
Who stager after in blind e imitation. 

Hal. My Lords, with welcome, I present your 

Lordships 60 

28 perfect om. S 29-30 One Hue Qq : cwr. .V 

A sollemne health. 
Mo. I loue health well, but when (as) 

healthes doe bring 

Paine to the head and bodies surfeting, 
Then cease I healthes. 
Nay, spill not, friend, for though the drops be 
small, 65 

Yet haue they force, to force men to the wall. 
Wol. Sir Christopher, is that your man? 
Hal. And like your grace; he is a Scholler 


A Lingest, one that hath trauelled manie partes 

Of Christendome, my Lorde. 70 

Wol. My friend, come nearer; haue you 

beene a traueller? 
Cro. My Lord, I haue added to my know - 

ledge the loe Countries, 
France, Spaine, Germanie, and Italie: 
And though small gaine of profit I did finde, 
Yet did it please my eye, content my minde. 
Wol. What doe you thinke of the seuerall 
states 76 

And princes Courtes as you haue trauelled? 
Cro. My Lord, no Court with England may 


Neither for state nor ciuill gouernement: 
Lust dwelles in France, in Italie, and Spaine, 
From the poore pesant to the Princes traine, 
In Germanie and Holland riot serues, 82 

And he that most can drinke, most he deserues : 
England I praise not, for I here was borne, 
But that she laugheth the others vnto scorne. 
Wol. My Lord, there dwelles within that 
spirite 86 

More then can be discerned by outwarde eye. 
Sir Cristopher, will you part with your man? 
Hal. I haue sought to proffer him to your 


And now I see he hath preferred himselfe. 90 
Wol. What is thy name? 
Crom. Cromwell, my Lorde. 
Wol. Then, Cromwell, here we make thee 
Solliciter of our causes, and nearest next our 
self e. Gardiner giue you kinde welcome to the 
man. 96 

Gardiner imbraces him. 
Mo. My Lorde, you are a royall Winer, 
Haue got a man besides yourbountious dinner. 
Well, Knight, praie we come no more: 

62 love healths M as add. Q ? 64 Ends friend 
Off, Ff G8-70 Tiro lines Qq, Ff. dir. after I ingest 

7.) -H':*!, T? ir 76 think then of 31 85 that 

.:} With France M 
32-5 I she laughs 31 : sure she laughs Haz. 

86 End* more 

Time line*, dir. a fin- prater, Polititian Oq, Fl : PI-MC ! J/ 87 byl by the M 89 to your] unto your M 
FS, R : corr. M ' :J8 Our thanks M 43 By this ; 93-5 Verse aid. : dir. causes Qq, Ff: dir. solicitor M 
Molt. 44 is OM. 03: bodies are Ff, etc. ' 46 ! 93-6 IV rw Qq 97 My lord cardinal J/ 98 Have 

breeds in them less Jl 48 English .V : Spaniardes I M: Hath Qq 99 Well, my good knight .V pray 
Q 1 : Englishmen QS, Ff 59 Who] And Q 1 I that we M 




If we come often, thou maist shut thy doore. 

Wol. Sir Christopher, hadst thou giuen me 

halfe thy landes, 101 

Thou couldest not haue pleased me so much as 

This man of thine. My infant thoughtes do 


Shortlie his fortune shall be lifted higher; 
True Industrie doth kindle honours fier. 105 
And so, kinde maister of the Roules, farewell. 
Hal. Cromwell, farewell. 
Cro. Cromwell takes his leaue of you, 
That neare will leaue to loue and honour you. 
[Exit omnes. The Musicke playes, as 
they go in. 

(Acr IV.) 
Enter Chorus. 
Cho. Now Cromwells highest fortunes doth 


Wolsay, that loued him as he did his life, 
Committed all his treasure to his hands. 
Wolsay is dead, and Gardiner, his man, 
Is now created Bishop of Winchester: 5 

Pardon if we omit all Wolsayes life, 
Because our play dependes on Cromwelles 


Now sit and see his highest state of all; 
His haight of rysing and his sodaine fall. 
Pardon the errors is all readie past, 10 

And liue in hope the best doth come at last: 
My hope vpon your fauour doth depend, 
And looke to haue your liking ere the end. 


(SCENE I. The same. A publick walk.} 
Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, The 

Dukes of Norffolke, and of Suffolke, Sir 

Thomas Moore, Sir Christopher Halles, 

and Cromwell. 
Nor. Maister Cromwell, since Cardinall 

Wolsayes death, 

His maiestie is giuen to vnderstand 
Theres certaine billes and writings in your 


That much concernes the state of England. 
My Lord of Winchester, is it not so? 

Did binde vs, while his loue was to the King, 
It is no boote now to denie these things, 
Which may be preiuditiall to the state: 10 
And though that God hath raisde my fortune 


Then any way I lookt for or deseru'de, 
Yet my life no longer with me dwell, 
Then I prooue true vnto my Soueraigne: 
What say you, maister Cromwell 1 ! haue you 

those writings? 15 

I, or no? 

Crom. Here are the writings, and vpon my 


I giue them vp vnto the worthy Dukes 
Of Suffolke and of Norffolke: he was my 


And each vertuous part, 20 

That liued in him, I tenderd with my hart; 
But what his head complotted gainst the state 
My countries loue commands me that to hate. 
His sudden death I greeue for, not his fall, 
Because besought to worke my countries thrall. 
Suff. Cromwell, the King shall here of this 

thy dutie, 26 

Whom I assure my selfe will well rewarde thee: 

My Lord lets go vnto his Maiestie, 

And show these writings which he longs to see. 

[Exit Norffolke and Suffolke. 

Enter Bedford hastily. 
Bed. How now, whose this? 30 

Cromwell, by my soule! welcome to England: 
Thou once didst saue my life, didst not 


Crom. If I did so, 'tis greater glorie for me, 
That you remember it, then of my selfe 
Vainelie to report it. 35 

Bed. Well, Cromwell, now is the time, 
I shall commend thee to my Soueraigne: 
Cheere vp thy selfe, for I will raise thy state. 
A Russell yet was neuer found ingrate. [Exit. 
Hales. how vncertaine is the wheele of 
state. 40 

Who latelie greater then the Cardinall, 
For feare, and loue? and now who lower lies? 
Gaye honours are but Fortunes flatteries, 
And whom this day pride and promotion 

Gar. My Lord of Norfolke, we two weare ! To morrow enuie and ambition quels. 45 

whilom fellowes; 
And, maister Cromwell, though our maisters 

100 thou maist shut Q2, tic.'. or shut vp 1 101 
hadst Q 2, etc. : haddest hadst Q 1 101 ff. End On 

Ff me, me, thine, spell : con: M S. D. The Musick 
go in nfltr Enter Chorus Qq, Ff Act IV athl M 

1 doth] do/'? 10 is] are Pff ' 13 looks M Scene I 
etc. adit. M 4 concern F3 the present state S 

More. Who sees the Cob -web intangle the 

poore Flie, 
May boldlie say the wretches death is nigh. 

13 Yet may my .V 15-1G One Hue Qq : Front, flivfn 
to Suff. Ff 17-19 Evil writings, unto, Norfolk M 

17 vpon] on M 21 Who M 30 Eixl.t Cromwell 
Qq, Ff : soul M 31 my] bv Q I 33-5 Tiro I him 
Qq, Fl. tlfr. after remember it 34 of] for Q if, etc, 
46 tangle M 



ACT IV, St. I. 

Card. 1 knew his state and proud ambition 
Was too too violent to last ouer-long. 

Hales. Who soares too neare the sunne 
with golden winges, 50 

Mealtes them, to ruine his owne fortune 

Enter the Duke of Suffolke. 
Suf. Cromwell, kneele downe in king 

Henries name. 

Arise sir Thomas Cromwell; thus beginnes thy 

Enter the Duke of Norffolke. 
Norf. Cromwell, the maiestie of England, 
For the good liking he conceiues of thee, 55 
Makes thee maister of the iewell house, 
Chief e Secretarie to himselfe, and with all, 
Creates thee one of his highnesse priuie 

Enter the Earle of Bedforde. 
Bed. Where is sir Thomas Cromwelll is he 


Suf. He is, my Lorde. 60 

Bed. Then to adde honour to his name, 
The King creates him Lord keeper of 
His priuie Seale, and maister of the Roules, 
Which you sir Christopher do now enioy; 
The King determines higher place for you. 65 

Crom. My Lords, 

These honors are too high for my desert. 
More. content thee, man; who would not 

choose it? 

Yet thou art wise in seeming to refuse it. 69 
Card. Heres honors, titles, and promotions: 
I feare this climing will haue a sudden fall. 
Norff. Then come, my Lords; lets altoge 

ther bring 

This new made Counsellor to Englands King. 
[Exit all but Gardiner. 
Card. But Gardiner meanes his glorie shall 
be dimde. 74 

Shall Cromwell liue a greater man then I? 
My enuie with his honour now is bred; 
I hope to shorten Cromwell by the head. [Exit. 

I. London. A street before Cromwell's 


Enter Friskiball very poore. 
Fris. Friskiball, what shall become of 

48 know Q</, Ff 49 were J/ 54 the gracious 
majesty Jf M (bee the master Jf til -_'/.'"/ 

honour to. keeper J/ IW End* Scale Qq. Ff >2 
him] him the M 0(5-7 One !/>u <)</. Ff Scene II. 
etc. add. M 

Where shalt thou go, or which way shalt thou 


Fortune, thatturnes her too vnconstant wheele, 
Hath turn'd thy wealth and riches in the 


All parts abroade where euer I haue beene 5 
Growes wearie of me, and denies me succour; 
My debtors, they that should releeue my want, 
Forswear es my monie, saies they owe me none: 
They know my state too meane to beare out 

law, 9 

And here in London, where I oft haue beene, 
And haue done good to manie a wretched man, 
(I) Am now most wretched here, dispisd my 


In vaine it is, more of their hearts to trie; 13 

Be patient, therefore, laye thee downe and die. 

[He lies downe. 

Enter good man Seely, and his wife loane. 

Seely. Come, loane, come; lets see what 
heele doe for vs now. Iwis we haue done for 
him, when many a time and often he might 
haue gone a hungrie to bed. 1 8 

Wife. Alas, man, now he is made a Lord, 
heele neuer looke vpon vs; heele fullnll the 
old Prouerbe: Set Beggers a horse -backe, and 
thei'le ride. A, welliday for my Cowe! such as 
he hath made vs come behinde hand: we had 
neuer pawnd our Cowe els to pay our rent. 24 

Seely. Well, loane, heele come this waye: 
and by Gods dickers, ile tell him roundlie of it, 
and if hee were tenne Lordes: a shall knowe 
that I had not my Cheese and my Bacon for 
nothing. 2 9 

Wife. Doe you remember, husband, how 
hee woulde mouch vp my Cheese cakes? he 
hath forgot this now, but weele remember him. 

Seelie. I, we shall haue now three flappes 
with a Foxe taile: but, I faith, ile gibber a 
ioynte, but ile tell him his owne. Staye, who 
comes heere? stand vppe; heere hee 
comes ; stand vppe. 37 

Enter Hodge verie fine with a Tipstafe: 

Cromwell, the Mace caryed before him: 

Norffolke, and Suffolke, and attendants. 

Hod. Come, away with these beggars here; 

rise vp, sirra. 

Come, out the good people: runne afore there, 

ho! 39 

[Friskiball riseth, and stands a farre off. 

Seelie. I, wee are kicked awaye, now wee 

come for our owne; the time hath beene he 

woulde a looked more friendlye vpon vs. And 

4 Hath drown'd X I-' Am Qq : And Ff : 1 am 

-V here] and 6' 32 but now weel Q if, etc. 


ACT IV, Sc. II. 


you, Hodge, we know you well inough, though 
you are so fine. 

Cro. Come hether, sirrah. Stay, what men 
are these? 45 

My honest Host of Hounslow and his wife! 
I owe thee mony, father, do I not? 

Scelie. I, by the bodie of mee, dooest thou. 
Woulde thou wouldest paye me: good foure 
pound it is, I haue a the poste at home. 5 

Cro. I know tis true. Sirra, giue him ten 


And looke your wife and you do stay to dinner: 
And while you Hue, I freelie giue to you 
Foure pound a yeare, for the foure pound I 
ought you. 54 

Seelie. Art not changed, art ould Tom still! 
Now God blesse the good Lord Tom. Home, 
loane, home; ile dine with my Lorde Tom to j 
day, and thou shalt come next weeke. Fetch ; 
my Cow; home, loane, home. 59 : 

Wife. Now God blesse thee, my good Lorde 
Tom; lie fetch my Cow presentlie. [Exit Wife. 

Enter Gardiner. 

Cro. Sirra, goe to yon stranger; tell him I 
Desire him stay at dinner. I must speake 
With him. 

Gar. My Lorde of Norffolke, see you this 

same bubble, 65 

That same puffe? but marke the end, my Lord, 

Marke the ende. 

Nor. I promise you, I like not somthing he 

hath done, 

But let that passe; the King doth loue him well. 
Cro. Go(o)d morrow to my Lord of Win- i 
Chester. 70 j 

I know you beare me hard about the Abbie 

Gar. Haue I not reason, when religion is 

You had no colour for what you haue done. 

Cro. Yes; the abolishing of Antichrist, 
And of this Popish order from our Realme. 
I am no enemy to religion, 76 

But what is done, it is for Englands good. 
What did they serue for but to feede a sort 
Of lazie Abbotes and of full fed Fryers? 
They neither plow, nor sowe, and yet they 
reape 80 

The fat of all the Land, and sucke the poore: 
Looke, what was theirs, is in King Henries 

His wealth before lay in the Abbie lands. 

Gar. Indeede these things you haue aledged, 

my Lord, 

When God doth know the infant yet vnborne 
Will curse the time the Abbies were puld 
downe. 86 

I pray, now where is hospitality? 
Where now may poore distressed people go, 
For to releeue their neede, or rest their bones, 
When weary trauell doth oppresse their limmes? 
And where religious men should take them in, 
Shall now be kept backe with a Mastiue dogge, 
And thousand thousand 
Nor. 0, my Lord, no more: thinges past 


Tis bootelesse to complaine. 95 

Cro. What, shall we to the Conuocation 


Nor. Weele follow you, my Lord; praie, 
leade the way. 

Enter Old Cromwell like a Farmer. 
Old. Cro. How? one Cromwell made Lord 

Keeper since I left Putnay 
And dwelt in Yprkeshire. I neuer hard better 

lie see that Cromwell, or it shall goe hard. 100 

Cro. My aged father! state set aside, 
Father, on my knee I craue your blessing: 
One of my seruantes go and haue him in; 
At better leasure will we talke with him. 
Old. Cro. Now if I die, how happy were the 
day! 105 

To see this comfort raines forth showers of ioy. 
[Exit Olde Cromwell 
Nor. This dutie in him showes a kinde of 


Cro. Go on before, for time drawes on 
apace. [Exit all but Friskiball. 

Fris. I wonder what this Lord would haue 
with me, 109 

His man so stricktlie gaue me charge to stay: 
I neuer did offend him to my knowledge. 
Well, good or bad, I meane to bide it all; 
Worse then I am now neuer can befall. 

Enter Banister and his wife. 

Ba. Come, wife, I take it be almost dinner 

time, 1 1 1 

For maister Newton, and maister Crosbic sent 

To me last night, they would come dine with me, 

And take their bond in: I pray thee, hie thee 

And see that all things be in readinesse. 

50 hav't M 55 ff. Yirne Qq, Ff : con: M 5G tlioc. 94 Ends more 31 
good Ff, etc. (J-2-4 Tiro linen (jq, ilh: nftcr desire him : 98-100 Prose M 
run: M fi3ttj to QS, iU: .wb'.Op* line <h 

CO That smile] That's a mere .V 70 Endx know 


97 follow OS, (t<: : fellow Q I 

- 101 state then set M 102 on] 

upon 31 1H be] to be M Two linen IU 1 15 Wv 
to me Qt), Ff: con: M 


ACT IV, Sc. IV. 

Mi. Ba. They shalbe welcome, husband; 

ile go before. 

But is not that man maister Friskiballl 1 20 

[She runnes and imbrases him. 

Ba. heauens, it is kinde maister Friski- 

Say sir, what hap hath brought you to this 

Fris. The same that brought you to your 

Ba. Why would you not acquaint me with 

your state? 

Is Banister your poore friend quite forgot: 125 
Whose goods, whose loue, whose life and all is 

Fri. I thought your vsage would be as the 

That had more kindnesse at my handes then 

Yet looked asconce, when as they saw me 


Mi. Ba. If Banister should beare so bace 
a hart, 1 30 

I neuer would looke my husband in the face, 
But hate him as I would a Cockatrise. 

Ba. And well thou mightest, should Banister 

deale so. 

Since that I saw you, sir, my state is mended: 
And for the thousand pound I owe to you, 
I haue it ready for you, sir, at home; 136 
And though I greeue your fortune is so bad, 
Yet that my hap's to helpe you makes me glad. 
And now, sir, will it please you walke with 


Fris. Not yet I cannot, for the Lord Chan- 

celour 1 40 

Hath here commaunded me to waight on him, 

For what I know not: pray God tis for my good. 

Ba. Neuer make doubt of that; ile warrant 


He is as kinde a noble gentleman 
As euer did possesse the place he hath. 1 45 
Mi. Ba. Sir, my brother is his steward; if 

you please, 

Weale go along and beare you company: 
I know we shall not want for welcome there. 
Fris. With all my hart: but whats become 

of Bagott 

Ba. He is hanged, for buying iewels of the 
Kinges-. 1 50 

Fris. A iust reward for one so impious. 
The time drawes on, sir; will you go along? 
Ba. Ile follow you, kinde maister Frishiball. 
[Exit Omnes. 

125 quite am. Q2, Ff: then forgot M 130 

should] would /' :', etc. 142 tis . . my] it be for (J2, 

(SCENE IH. The same. Another street.) 
Enter two Mar chants. 

1. Now, maister Crosbie, I see you haue 
a care, 

To keepe your word, in paiment of your monie. 

2. By my faith, I haue reason vpon a bond; 
Three thousand pound is too much to forfeit. 
Yet I doubt not Maister Banister. 5 

1. By my faith, your summe is more then 

And yet I am not much behinde you too, 
Considering that to day I paid at court. 

2. Masse, and well remembred, 

Whats the reason the Lord Cromwels men 10 
Weare such long skirts vpon their coates. 
They reach almost downe to their verie ham. 

1. I will resolue you, sir; and thus it is: 
The Bishop of Winchester, that loues not 


As great men are enuied, as well as lesse 15 
A while agoe there was a iarre betweene them, 
And it was brought to my Lord Cromwels eare, 
That Bishop Gardiner would sit on his skirt; 
Vpon which word, he made his men long Blew 

coates, 19 

And in the Court wore one of them himself e: 
And meeting with the Bishop, quoth ha, ' Mv 

Here's skirt enough now for your Grace to sit 


Which vexed the Bishop to the very hart. 
This is the reason why they weare long coates. 

2. Tis alwaies seene, and marke it for a rule, 
That one great man will enuie still another: 2 6 
But tis a thing that nothing concernes me. 
What, shall we now to Maister Banisters'! 

1 . I, come, weele pay him royally for our 
dinner. [Exit. 

(SCENE IV. The same. A room in CromwelVs 

Enter the Vsher and the Shewer, the meate 

goes oner the Stage. 
Vsher. Vncouer there, Gentlemen. 

Enter Cromwell, Bedford, Suffclke, Old Crom 
well, Friskiball, goodman Seelie, and 

Crom. My noble Lordes of Suffolke and of 

\ ScencIII. /<. rM. .)/ S. D. Enter Newton and 

, Crosby M 3 vpon] on 31 4 is far too ,V a 

\ And yet M 6 faith, sir, your M 9-12 Thrtr. 

Inifa " J/, die. nfltr reason, upon 10 the Lord] 

Lord M 12 almost oi. Q2, itc. 18 skirts (>~>, 

etc. 22 skirts Ff, tic. Scene IV, tic. add. M 


ACT IV, Sc. IV. 


Your honors welcome to poore Cromwels 


Where is my father? nay, be couered, Father. 
Although that duty to these noble men 5 
Doth challenge it, yet ile make bolde with 


Your head doth beare the callender of care. 
What, Cromwell couered and his Father bare! 
It must not be. Now, sir, to you. Is not 
Your name Friskiball and a Florentine"! 10 
Fris. My name was Friskiball, till cruell 


Did rob me of my name and of my state. 
Crom. What fortune brought you to this 

countrie now? 
Fri. All other parts hath left me succorlesse, 

Now in to dinner, for we stay too long, 
And to good stomacks is no greater wrong. 45 

[Exit omnes. 

(SCENE V. The same. A room in the Bishop 

of Winchester's house.} 
Enter Gardiner in his studie, and his man. 
Gard. Sirra, where be those men I causd to 

Ser. They do attend your pleasure, sir, 

Gard. Bid them come hether, and stay you 


For by those men, the Foxe of this same land, 
That makes a Goose of better then himself e, 

Saue onelie this. Because of debts I haue, 15 j Weele worie him vnto his latest home, 

I hope to gaine for to releeue my want. 

Crom. Did you not once, vpon your Florence 

Helpe two distressed men, robd by the Ban- 

His name was Cromwell. 

Fri. I neuer made my braine a calender 20 
Of any good I did; 

I alwaies lou'd this nation with my heart. 
Crom. I am that Cromwell that you there 

Sixteene Duckets you gaue me for to cloath 

Or Gardiner will faile in his intent. 

As for the Dukes of Suffolke and of Norffolke, 

Whom I haue sent for to come speake with 


Howsoeuer outwardlie they shadow it, 10 
Yet in their hearts I know they loue him not: 
As for the Earle of Bedford, he is but one, 
And dares not gaine -say what we do set downe. 

Enter the two witnesses. 
Now, my friends, you know I sau'd your liues, 
When by the law you had deserued death, 15 

Sixteene to beare my charges by the way, 
And sixteene more I had for my horse hier: 
There be those seuerall summes iustlie returnd, 
Yet with iniustice, seruing at my need, 
And to repay them without interest. 

Therefore receiue of me these foure seuerall 

And then you promised me vpon your othes, 
25 ! To venture both your liues to do me good. 

Both wit. We swore no more then that we 

will performe, 

Gard. I take your words; and that which 
you must do 



In each of them there is foure hundred marke; 

Is seruice for your God, and for your King: 20 
To roote a rebell from this flourishing land, 
One thats an enemie vnto the Church: 

And bring me the names of all your debitors, And therefore must you take your solemne 
And if they will not see you paide, I will: oathes, 

That you heard Cromwell, the Lord Chaun- 

God forbid, that I should see him fall, 

That helpt me in my greatest need of all. 35 M 

Here stands my Father that first gaue me life, , Did wish"a dagger at King Henries hart. 25 
Alas, what dutie is too much for him? Feare not to sweare it, for I hard him speake it; 

This man in time of need did saue my life, 
And therefore (I) cannot do too much for him. 
By this old man I often times was fed, 40 

Therefore weele shield you from " insuing 

, . . T , 7 -T- 2. Wit. If you will warrant vs the deed is 

Els might I haue gone supperlesse to bed. good, 

Such kindnesse haue I had of these three men, Weele vndertake it 

That Cromwell no way can repaie againe. Gar. Kneele downe, and I wil here absolua 

3 are welcome J/ 5 Ends challenge it Qq, Ff: con- mu- %? U ^\ , 3 

.V <J Ends to you Qq, Ff: con: M 18 twol aO* Thls Crucifi x I lay vpon your head, 
etc. men] man Ff, etc. -" - 

And sprinckle holy-water on your browes. 



ACT IV, Sc. V. 

And by it shall you purchase grace from 

1. Now, sir, weele vndertake it, by our 
soules. 35 

2. For Cromwell neuer loued none of our 

Gar. I know he doth not, and for both of 


I will preferre you to some place of worth: 
Now get you in, vntill I call for you, 39 

For presentlie the Dukes meanes to be here. 

[Exit wit. 

Cromwell, sit fast, thy time's not long to raigne. 
The Abbies that were puld downe by thy 


Is now a meane for me to pull thee downe: 
Thy pride also thy owne head lights vpon, 
For thou art he hath changd religion: 45 
But now no more, for here the Dukes are come. 

Enter Suffolke, Norffolke, and the Earle 

of Bedford. 

Stiff. Goodden to my Lord Bishop. 
Nor. How fares my Lord? what, are you 

all alone? 

Gar. No, not alone, my Lords; my mind is 
troubled; 49 

I know your honours muse wherefore I sent, 
And in such hast. What, came you from the 

Norff. We did, and left none but Lord 

Cromwell with him. 
Card. 0, what a dangerous time is this we 

Hue int 

Theres Thomas Wolsay, hees alreadie gone, 
And Thomas Moore, he followed after him: 55 
Another Thomas yet there doth remaine, 
That is farre worsse then either of those twaine, 
And if with speed, my Lords, we not pursue it, 
I f eare the King and all the land will rue it. 
Bed. Another Thomas] pray God it be not 
Cromwell. 60 

Card. My Lord of Bedford, it is that traitor 

Bed. Is Cromwell false? my hart will neuer 

thinke it. 

Suff. My Lord of Winchester, what likeli 

Or proofe haue you of this his treacherie? 
Gar. My Lord, too much. Call in the men 
within. 65 

Enter witnesses. 

These men, my Lord, vpon their othes affirme, 
That they did here Lord Cromwell in his garden, 

44 also QO. dr. : vpon 01 

47 Good cucn Q ?, 

Wished a dagger sticking at the hart 
Of our King Henrie. What is this but treason? 
Bed. If it be so, my hart doth bleed with 
sorrow. 70 

Suff. How say you friends? what, did you 
here these words? 

1 . wit. We did, and like your grace. 
Norff. In what place was Lord Cromwell 

when he spake them? 

2. wit. In his Garden, where we did attend 
a sute, 74 

Which we had waited for two yeare and more. 
Suff. How long ist since you heard him 

speake these words? 
2. wit. Some halfe yeare since. 
Bed. How chance that you conceald it all 

this time? 

1 . wit. His greatnesse made vs feare, that 
was the cause. 

Card. I, I, his greatnesse; thats the cause 

indeed; So 

And to make his treason here more manifest, 
He calles his seruants to him round about, 
Telles them of \Volsayes life, and of his fall, 
Saies that himselfe hath manie enemies, 
And giues to some of them a Parke or Manor, 
To others Leases, Lands to other some: 86 
What need he doe thus in his prime of life, 
And if he were not fearfull of his death? 
Suff. My Lord, these likelihoods are very 

Bed. Pardon me, Lords, for I must needs 

depart; 90 

Their proofes are great, but greater is my 

heart. \Exit Bedford. 

Norff. My friends, take heed of that which 

you haue said. 
Your soules must answer what your tongues 

Therefore, take heed, be warie what you doe. 

2. wit. My Lord, we speake no more but 
truth. 95 

Norff. Let them 

Depart. My Lord of Winchester, let these men 
Be close kept vntill the day of triall. 

Gar. They shall, my Lord: hoe, take in 
these two men. [Exit witnesses. 

My Lords, if Cromwell haue a publike triall, 
That which we do is voide by his deniall: 101 
You know the king will credit none but him. 
Nor. Tis true, he rules the King euen as he 


Suff. How shall we do for to attache him, 

68 Wishing M 87 thus] this S 95-8 End 

truth, Winchester, kept, trial Qq, Ff: rwr. 31 % 
them] him coy. M 97 let] and let M 


ACT IV, Sc. V, 


Card. Marie, my Lords, thus: by an Acte 
he made himself e, 105 

With an intent to intrap some of our hues, 
And this it is: If any Councellor 
Be conuicted of high treason, he shall 
Be executed without a publike triall. 
This Act, my Lords, he causd the King to 
make. no 

Stiff. A did indeed, and I remember it, 
And now it is like to fall vpon himself e. 
Nor. Let vs not slack it, tis for Englands 


We must be warie, els heele go beyond vs. 
Gar. Well hath your Grace said, my Lord 
of Norffolke; 115 

Therefore let vs presently to Lambeth. 
Thether comes Cromwell from the Court to 


Let vs arest him, send him to the Tower, 
And in the morning, cut off the traitors 


Norf. Come, then, about it, let vs guard the 

towne. 1 20 

This is the day that Cromwell must go downe. 

Gard. Along, my Lords. Well, Cromwell 

is halfe dead; 

He shaked my hart, but I will shaue his head. 


(Acr V. SCENE I. A street in London.} 

Enter Bedford solus. 
Bed. My soule is like a water troubled, 
And Gardiner is the man that makes it so. 
0, Cromwell, I do feare thy end is neare: 
Yet Be preuent their malice if I can. 
And in good time, see where the man doth 
come, s 

Who little knowes how neares his day of 

Enter Cromwell withhis traine. Bedford makes 
as though he would speake to him: he 
goes on. 

Cro. Your well encountered, my good Lord 

of Bedford. 

I see your honour is adressed to talke; 
Pray pardon me, I am sent for to the king, 
And do not know the businesse yet my 
selfe. 10 

So fare you well, for I must needes be gone. 

[Exit all the traine. 
Bed. You must; well, what remedie? 
I feare too soone you must be gone indeed. 

108 Ends treason Qq, Ff : con: M 115 my good 

r * * ir 16 y s] us ., go M 123 shaue ] sbak e conj. 
M Act V. etc. add. M 8 om. Ff, R 

The king hath businesse, but little doest thou 

know, i 4 

Whose busie for thy life: thou thinkes not so. 

Enter Cromwell and the traine agayne. 
Crom. The second time wel met, my Lord of 


I am very sory that my hast is such. 
Lord Marques Dorset beeing sicke to death, 
I must receaue of him the priuie seale. 1 9 
At Lambeth, soone, my Lord, weele talke our 
fill. [Exit the traine. 

Bed. How smooth and easie is the way to 

Enter a seruant. 

Mes. My Lord, the dukes of Norfolke and 

of Suffolke, 

Accompanied with the Bishop of Winchester, 
Intreates you to come presently to Lambeth, 
On earnest matters that concernes the state. 
Bed. To Lambeth! so: goe fetch me pen 

and inke. 26 

I and Lord Cromwell there shall talke enough; 
I, and our last, I feare, and if he come. 

[He writes a letter. 
Heare, take this letter, and beare it to Lord 


Bid him read it; say it concernes him neare: 
Away, begone, make all the hast you can. 31 
To Lambeth do I goe a woefull man. [Exit. 

(SCENE n. A street near the Thames.} 

Enter Cromwell and his traine. 
Crom. Is the Barge readie? I will straight 

to Lambeth, 

And if this one dayes businesse once were past, 
I'de take my ease to morrow after trouble. 
How now, my friend, wouldst thou speake with 

[The Messenger brings him the letter; he 
puts it in his pocket. 

Mes. Sir, heares a letter from my Lord of 

Bedford. 5 

Crom. good, my friend, commend me to 

thy Lord. 
Hould, take those Angels; drinke them for thy 


Mes. He doth desire your grace to reade it, 

Because he sayes it doth concerne you neare. 

Crom. Bid him assure himselfe of that. 

Farewell. 10 

To morrow, tell him, shall he heare from me. 

Set on before there, and away to Lambeth. 

[Exeunt omnes. 

Scene II. lit.-, add. 



ACT V, Sc. IV. 

(SCENE m. Lambeth.} 
Enter Winchester, Suffolke, Norf olke, Bedford, 
Sargiant at armes, the Harauld, and halberts. 

Gar. Halberts, stand close vnto the water 

Sargiant at armes, be bould in your office; 
Harrauld, deliuer your proclamation. 

Ha. This is to giue notice to all the kings 
subiects: The late Lord Cromwell, Lord Chan 
cellor of England, Vicor generall ouer the 
realme, him tohould and esteeme as a traytor 
agaynst the Crowne and dignitie of England: 
So God saue the king. 

Gar. Amen. i 

Bed. Amen, and roote thee from the land, 
For whilst thou liuest truth cannot stand. 

Nor. Make a lane there, the traitors at 


Keepe backe Cromwels men; 
Drowne them if they come on. Sargiant, your 
office. *5 

Enter Cromwell, they make a lane with their 

Cro. What meanes my Lord of Norfolke 

by these wordes? 
Sirs, come along. 

Gar. Kill them, if they come on. 
Sar. Lord Cromwell, in king Henries name, 
I do arrest your honour of high treason. 20 
Crom. Sargiant, me of treason? 

[Cromwels men offer to drawe. 
Suf. Kill them, if they draw a sworde. 
Crom. Hould; I charge you, as you loue 

me, draw not a sworde. 
Who dares accuse Cromwell of treason now? 
Gar. This is no place to recken vp your 
crime; 25 

Your Doue-like lookes were viewed with ser 
pents eyes. 
Crom. With serpents eyes, indeed, by thine 

they were; 
But Gardiner do thy woorst, I feare thee 

My f ayth, compared with thine, as much shall 


As doth the Diamond excell the glasse. 30 
Attached of treason, no accusers by! 
Indeede, what tongue dares speake so foule 

a lie? 
Nor. My Lord, my Lord, matters are too 

well knowne, 
And it is time the king had note thereof. 

Scene III. etc. add. M 2 be you bold M 4-9 
Verne in Qq, Ff : con: 31 1'2 the truth 31 li 

Ends come on M 19 Lord Thomas Cromwell 31 

Crom. The king! let me goe to him face to 
face; 35 

No better triall I desire then that: 
Let him but say that Cromwels fayth was 


Then let my honour and my name be stayned. 
If euer my hart agaynst my king was set, 
let my soule in ludgement aunswere it: 40 
Then, if my faythes confirmed with his reason, 
Gaynst whom hath Cromwell, then, committed 


Suf. My Lord, your matter shall be tried; 
Meane time, with patience content your selfe. 
Cro. Perforce I must with patience be con 
tent. 45 
deare friend Bedford, doest thou stand so 


Cromwell reioyceth one friend sheds a teare. 
And whether ist? which way must Cromwell 

Gar. My Lord, you must vnto the tower. 


Take him to your charge. 50 

Cro. Well, where you please; yet before I 


Let me conferre a little with my men. 
Gar. As you goe by water, so you shall. 
Cro. I haue some businesse present to 


Nor. You may not stay. Lieutenant, take 

your charge. 55 

Cro. Well, well, my Lord, you second 

Gardiners text. 

Norfolke, farewell; thy turne wilbe the next. 
[Exit Cromwell and the Lieutenant. 
Gar. His guiltie conscience makes him raue, 

my Lord. 
Nor. I, let him talke; his' time is short 


Gar. My Lord of Bedford, come; you weepe 
for him, 60 

That would not shed halfe a teare for you. 
Bed. It grieues me for to see his sudden 


Gar. Such successe wish I to traitours still. 


(SCENE IV. London. A street.} 

Enter two Citizens. 

1. Why, can this newes be true? ist possible? 
The great Lord Cromwell arreasted vpon 

49 End* tower Oq, Ff: con: M 50 to] unto M 

51 yet] but yet 31 M Ay, as M 61 halfe om. Ff, 
R : even half 31 03 to] vnto Q ?, etc. Scene IV. 
etc. add. 31 


ACT V, Sc. IV. 


I hardly will beleeue it can be so. 

2. Itis too true.sir; would it were other wise, 
Condition I spent halfe the wealth I had. 5 
I was at Lambeth, saw him there arrested, 
And afterward committed to the Tower. 

1 . What, wast for treason that he was com - 

Was very desirous for to speake to me, 1 1 
And afterward sent to me a letter, 
The which I thinke I haue still in my pocket. 
Now may I read it, for I now haue leasure, 
And this I take it is. [He reades the Letter. 
My Lord, come not this night to Lambeth, 1 6 

For if you do, your state is ouerthrowne. 

2 Kinde, noble Gentleman! I may rue the j And much I doubt your life, and if you come: 


All that I haue, I did inioy by him, 
And if he die, then all my state is gone. 

1. It may be doubted that he shall not die, 
Because the King did fauour him so much. 

2. O sir, you are deceiued in thinking so. 
The grace and fauour he had with the king 
Hath causde him haue so manie enemies: 16 
He that in court secure will keepe himselfe, 
Must not be great, for then he is enuied at. 
The Shrub is safe, when as the Cedar shakes; 
For where the King doth loue aboue compare, 
Of others they as much more enuied are. 21 

1 . Tis pittie that this noble man should fall, 
He did so many charitable deeds. 

2. Tis true, and yet you see in each estate, 
Theres none so good, but some one doth him 

hate. 25 

And they before would smile him in the face, 
Will be the formost to do him disgrace: 
What, will you go along vnto the Court? 

1. I care not if I do, and here the newes, 
How men will iudge what shall become of him. 

2. Some will speake hardly, some will 
speake in pitie. 31 

Go you to the Court, He vnto the Citie; 
There I am sure to here more newes then you. 
1. Why, then, soone will we meet againe. 


(SCENE V. A room in the Tower.} 

Enter Cromwell in the Tower. 
Crom. Now, Cromwell, hast thou time to 


And thinke vpon thy state, and of the time. 
Thy honours came vnsought, I, and vnlooked 


Thy fall as sudden, and vnlooked for to. 
What glorie was in England that I had not? 5 
Who in this land commanded more then 


Except the King who greater then my selfe? 
But now I see, what after ages shall: 
The greater men, more sudden is their fall. 
And now I do remember the Earle of Bedford 

5 had] liauo Q ?, <t,-. 12 doubted] hoped Q ?. 

f./r. :{2 vnto] go into Q ;?. clt. 34 again : adieu 
St. Scene V. etc. udd. M 9 men F/ : man ^7 

Then if you loue your selfe, stay where you 

God! had I but read this letter, 20 
Then had I beene free from the Lions paw; 
Deferring this to read vntill to morrow, 

1 spurnd at ioy, and did imbrace my sorrow. 

Enter the Leiutenant of the Tower and 

Now, maister Lieutenant, when's this day of 


Lien. Alas, my Lord, would I might neuer 

see it. 25 

Here are the Dukes of Suffolkea.nd of Norffolke, 

Winchester, Bedford, and sir Richard Ratcliffe, 

With others, but why they come I know not. 

Crom. No matter wherefore, Cromwell is 

prepard; 29 

For Gardiner has my state and life insnard. 

Bid them come in, or you shall do them wrong, 

For here stands he, whom some thinkes liues 

too long. 

Learning killes learning, and insteed of Inck 
To dip his Pen, Cromwels heart blood doth 

Enter all the Nobles. 

Norf. Good morrow, Cromwell. What, 

alone, so sad? 35 

Crom. One good among you, none of you 

are bad. 

For my part, it best fits me be alone; 
Sadnesse with me, not I with any one. 
What, is the king acquainted with my cause? 
Norf. We haue, and he hath answered vs, 
my Lord. 4 

Cro. How, shall I come to speake with him 

my selfe? 
Card. The King is so aduertised of your 


He will by no meanes admit youto his presence. 
Cro. No way admit me? am I so soone 


Did he but yesterday imbrace my neck, 45 
And said that Cromwell was euen halfe him 
And is his Princely eares so much bewitched 

1-2 to] vnto Q2, dr. 
' others] others still S 

'20 O God, O God ! .)/ 
40 We haue] He is M 


ACT V, Sc. V. 

With scandolous ignomie, and slanderous 


That now he dooth denie to looke on me? 
Well, my Lord of Winchester, no doubt but you 
Are much in fauour with his Maiestie: 51 
Will you beare a letter from me to his grace? 
Card. Pardon me, ile beare no traitors 

Crom. Hal Will you do this kindnesse 

then? Tell him 

By word of mouth, what I shall say to you? 55 
Card. That will I. 

Crom. But, on your honour, will you? 
Card. I, on my honor. 
Crom. Beare witnesse, Lords. Tell him 
when he hath knowne you, 59 

And tried your faith but half e so much as mine, 
Heele finde you to be the falsest harted man 
In England. Pray, tell him this. 

Bed. Be patient, good my Lord, in these 

Crom. My kinde and honorable Lord oi 


I know your honor alwaies loued me well; 65 
But, pardon me, this still shall be my theame; 
Gardiner is the cause makes Cromwell so 


Sir Ralphe Sadler, pray, a word with you: 
You were my man, and all that you possesse 
Came by my meanes; to requite all this, 70 
Will you take this letter here of me, 
And giue it with your owne hands to the 


Sad. I kisseyour hand, and neuer will I rest, 

Bare to the king this be deliuered. [Exit Sadler. 

Crom. Why yet Cromwell hath one friend 

in store. 75 

Card. But all the hast he makes shall be 

but vaine. 

Heres a discharge for your prisoner, 
To see him executed presentlie. 
My Lord, you here the tenor of your life 
Crom. I doe imbrace it, welcome my last 
date, 80 

And of this glistering world I take last leaue: 
And, noble Lords, I take my leaue of you. 
As willinglie I goe to meete with death, 
As Gardiner did pronounce it with his breath: 
From treason is my hart as white as Snowe, 
My death onlie procured by my foe. 86 

I pray, commend me to my Soueraigne king, 
And tell him in what sort his Cromwell died, 
To loose his head before his cause were tride: 

54 Emit then Qq, Ff: con: M 59 Tito Kites Qq, Ff, 
die. afttr Lords '68 I pray M 70 tol sir, to M 
71 Say will M 75 Why tlien yet .If 77 for] sir, 
for S 86 procured only )f 

But let his Grace, when he shall here my name, 
Say onely this: Gardiner procured the same. 91 

Enter young Cromwell. 
Lieu. Here is your sonne, come to take his 

Crom. To take his leaue! Come hether, 

Harry Cromwell. 

Marke, boye, the last words that I speake to 
thee. 9 4 

Flatter not Fortune, neither fawne vpon her; 
Gape not for state, yet loose no sparke of 


Ambition, like the plague see thou eschew it; 
I die for treason, boy, and neuer knew it. 
Yet let thy faith as spotlesse be as mine, 99 
And Cromwels vertues in thy face shall shine. 
Come, goe along and see me leaue my breath, 
And Ile leaue thee vpon the floure of death. 

Son. O, father, I shall die to see that wound ; 

Your blood being spilt will make my hart to 

sound. 104 

Cro. How, boy, not looke vpon the Axe! 

How shall I do then to haue my head stroke 


Come on, my childe, and see the end of all, 
And after say that Gardiner was my fall. 
Gar. My Lord, you speake it of an enuious 
hart; 109 

I haue done no more then lawe and equitie. 
Bed. 0, good my Lord of Winchester, for-- 


It would a better seemed you to beene absent, 

Then with your wordes disturbe a dying man. 

Cro. Who me, my Lord? no, he disturbes 

not me. 

My minde he stirres not, though his mightie 

shocke * is 

Hath brought mo peeres heads downe to the 


Farewell, my boy! all Cromwell can bequeath, 
My hartie blessing; so I take my leaue. 

Hang. I am your deaths man; pray, my 

Lord, forgiue me. 

Crom. Euen with my soule. Why, man, 

thou art my Doctor, 1 20 

And bringes me precious Phisicke for my 


My Lord of Bedford, I desire of you, 
Before my death, a corporall imbrace. 
[Bedford comesto him, Cromwell imbraces him. 
Farewell, great Lord; my loue I do commend, 
My hart to you; my soule to heauen I send. 
This is my ioy that, eare my bodie fleete, 1 2 6 

02 son, sir, come M 
112 al have M : ot, Q 
116 to] unto .V 

105 not dare to look M 
Fj beene] have been M 



Your honourdarmes is my true winding sheete. 
Farewell, deare Bedford; my peace is made in 

Thus falles great Cromwell a poore ell in 

To rise to vnmeasured height, winged with 

new strength, *3 

The land of Wormes, which dying men dis- 

My soule is shrinde with heauens celestiall 


[Exit Cromwell and the officers, and others. 
Bed. Well, farewell, Cromwell, the trewest 

friend, 133 

That euer Bedford shall possesse agayne. 
Well, Lordes, I feare, when this man is deade, 
Toule wish in vayne that Cromwell had a head. 

Enter one with Cromwels head. 
Offi. Heare is the head of the deceased 


131 The Qq, etc.: Hail conj. St. 
theJ/ 135 that when M 

133 the] sure 

Bed. Pray thee, goe hence, and beare his 

heade away 
Vnto his bodie; inter them both in clay. 

Enter sir Raulphe Sadler. 
Sad. Ho now, my Lordes: what, is Lord 
Cromwell dead? 1 40 

Bed. Lord Cromwels body now doth want 

a heade. 
Sad. God! a little speede had saued his 


Here is a kinde repriue come from the king, 
| To bring him straight vnto his maiestie. 
Snf. I, I, sir Ranlph, repriues comes now 
too late. 145 

Gar. My conscience now telles me this deede 

was ill: 

Would Christ that Cromwell were aliue againe. 
Nor. Come, let vs to the king, whom well 

I know, 

Will grieue for Cromwell, that his death was 
so. I Exeunt omnes. 

148 whom] who M 



As it was plaide by the Kings Maie- 

By jyitliamShakefpeare, 


Printed byT. C, for Natbtnief Butter, and 

arc to be fold n eere S isfuft&s gate, 

at the Ggne of th e pyde Bull* 

Q = Quarto of 1605 

F 1 = (Third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664 

F2 = (Fourth) 1685 

R = Rowe, 1709 

Pope = supplementary volume to Pope's Shakespeare, 1 728 

ML = Malone, 1780 

St. Steevens, ibid. 

Th. - Theobald, ibid. 

S = Simms, 1848 

T = Tyrrell, 1851 

Haz. =-- Hazlitt, 1852 

Moli.=* Moltke, 1869 

pr.ed.- present editor 



(The Actors Names in the London Prodigal. The Scene London (and the Parts adjacent). 1 

M. Flowerdale (Senior), 2 a Merchant trading 
at Venice. 

Matth. Flowerdale, his Prodigal Son. 

M. Flowerdale, (Junior), 3 Brother to the Mer 

Sir Lancelot Spurcock, of Lewsome in Kent. 


Luce. Daughters to Sir Lancelot Spurcock. 


flSoak. 1 S^ S fc Sir Lance. Spurcock. 

(ACT I. SCENE I. London. A room in 
Flowerdale Junior's house.} 

Enter old Flowerdale and his brother. 

Path. Brother, from Venice, being thus 


I come to proue the humours of my sonne. 
How hath he borne himself e since my de 

I leauing you his patrone and his guide? 
Vnck. If aith, brother, so, as you will grieue 

to heare, 

And I almost ashamde to report it. 6 

Path. Why, how ist, brother? what, doth 
he spend beyond the allowance I left him? 

Vnck. How! beyond that? and farre more: 
why, your exibition is nothing. Hee hath 

In love with 

spent that, and since hath borrowed ; pro- ' I pray, proceede. 

Sir Arthur Greenshood, a Com 

Oliver a Devonshire 4 Clothier. , 

Weathercock, a Parasite to Sir Lance. Spur 

Tom Civet, in love with Frances. 

Dick and Raph, two cheating Gamesters. 

Ruffin, a Pander to Mistris Apricock a Bawd. 

Sheriff and Officers. 

A Citizen and his wife. 

Drawers.} 5 

intombe himself in the earth, or seek a new 
Tenant to remaine in him: which once 
settled, how much better are they that in 
their youth haue knowne all these vices, and 
left it, then those that knewe little, and in 
their age runnes into it? Beleeue me, brother, 
they that dye most vertuous hath in their 
youth liued most vicious, and none knowes 
the danger of the fire more then he that falles 
into it. But say, how is the course of his life? 
lets heare his particulars. 41 

Vnck. Why, He tell you, brother; he is 
a continual swearer, and a breaker of his 
oathes, which is bad. ' 

Path. I grant indeed to sweare is bad, but 
not in keeping those oathes is better: for who 
will set by a bad thing? Nay, by my faith, I 
hold this rather a vertue then a vice. Well, 

tested with oathes, alledged kindred to wring 
mony from me, by the loue I bore his father, 
by the fortunes might fall vpon himself, to 
furnish his wants: that done, I haue had 
since his bond, his friend and friends bond. 
Altho I knowe that hee spends is yours; yet 
it grieues me to see the vnbridled wildnes 

Vnck. He is a mighty brawler, and comes 
commonly by the worst. 51 

Path. By my faith, this is none of the worst 
neither, for if he brawle and be beaten for it, 
it wil in time make him shunne it: For what 
brings man or child more to vertue then 
correction? What raignes ouer him else? 5 6 

Vnck. He is a great drinker, and one that 
will forget himselfe. 

Path. best of all ! vice should be forgotten : 

that raines ouer him. 19 

Path. Brother, what is the manner of his 
life? howe is the name of his offences? If they 

do not rellish altogether of damnation, his j let him drink on, so he drinke not churches, 
youth may priuiledge his wantonnesse: I my Nay, and this be the worst, I hold it rather 
selfe ranne an vnbrideled course till thirtie, a happines in him, then any iniquity. Hath 
nay, almost till fortie; well, you see how j he any more attendants? 

I am: for vice, once looked into with the eies 
of discretion, and well balanced with the 
waites of reason, the course past seemes so 
abhominable, that the Landlord of himselfe, 
which is the heart of his body, will rather 

1 and . . adjacent add. R ~, 3 Add. M 4 Cor 
nish Q, Ff: cm-r. M 5 Dram. Per*, add. Ft Act 
I. etc. ndd. M 22 damdation y 

Vnck. Brother, he is one that will borrow 
of any man. 65 

Path. Why, you see, so doth the sea: it 
borrowes of all the smal currents in the world, 
to encrease himselfe. 

35 it] 'em R 

Prefix Vnck. 

T. B. 

I Ha~z. 

36 run F 2, elf. it] 'em R 45 
40 not in] in not conj. M: the not 

47-70 Nay . . son Yene Q, F 1 

02 a om, Ff 

ACT I, Sc. I. 


Vnek. I, but the sea paies it againe, and so 

will neuer your son 


Path. No more would the sea neither, if it 
were as dry as my sonne. 

Vnck. Then, brother, I see you rather like 

these vices in your sonne, then any way con- 

if wee doe not pay you: the worst of vs all will 
not damne our selues for ten pound. A poxe 
of ten pound! 122 

Vnck. Cousen, this is not the first time I 
haue beleeu'd you. 

Flow. Why, trust me now, you know not 

demne them. 

Faih. Nay, mistake me not, brother, for tho 
I slur them ouer now, as things slight and 
nothing, his crimes being in the budde, it 
would gall my heart, they should euer raigne 
in him. 8o 

Flow. Hoi whoes within? ho! 

[Flower dale knockes within. 

Vnck. That's your sonne, hee is come to 
borrowe more money. 

Path. For Godsake giue it out I am dead; 
sse how hele take it. Say I haue brought you 
newes from his father. I haue here drawne 
a formall will, as it were from my selfe, which 
lie deliuer him. 88 

Vnck. Goe too, brother, no more: I will. 

Flow. Vnckle, where are you, Vnckle? 


Vnck. Let my cousen in there. 

Path. I am a Sayler come from Venice, and 
my name is Christopher. 

Enter Flowerdale. 

Flow. By the Lord, in truth, Vnckle 94 

Vnck. In truth would a seru'd, cousen, 
without the Lord. 

Flow. By your leaue, Vnckle, the Lord is 
the Lord of truth. A couple of rascalles at 
the gate set vpon me for my purse. 99 

Vnck. You neuer come, but you bring a 
brawle in your mouth. 

Flow. By my truth, Vnckle, you must 
needes lend me tenne pound. 

Vnck. Giue my cousen some small beere 

75 what may fall. If one thing were but true, 

I would not greatly care, I should not neede 
ten pound, but when a man cannot be beleeued, 
ther's it. 

Vnck. Why, what is it, cousen? 1 30 

Flow. Mary, this, Vnckle: can you tell me 
if the Katern-hue be come home or no? 

Vnck. I, mary, ist. 

Flow. By God I thanke you for that newes. 
What, ist in the poole, can you tell? 1 35 

Vnck. It is; what of that? 

Flow. What? why then I haue sixe peeces 
of vellet sent me; lie giue you a peece, Vnckle: 
for thus said the letter, a peece of Ashcolour, 
a three pilde black, a colour de roy, a crimson, 
a sad greene, and a purple: yes, y faith. 141 

Vnck. From whom should you receiue 

Flow. From who? why, from my father; 
with commendations to you, Vnckle, and thus 
he writes: I know, saith he, thou hast much 
troubled thy kinde Vnckle, whom God -willing 
at my returne I will see amply satisfied. Amply, 
I remember was the very word, so God helpe 


Haue you the letter here? 
Tes, I haue the letter here, here is 




the letter: no, yes, no; let me see, what 
breechs wore I a Satterday? let me see: a 
Tuesday my Calymanka; a Wednesday my 
peach colour Sattin; a Thursday my Vellure; 
a Friday my Gaily manka againe; a Satterday 
let me see a Satterday, for in those 
breeches I wore a Satterday is the letter: 0, 

here. 105 j my ryding breeches, Vnckle, those that you 

Flow. Nay, looke you, you turne it to a thought had bene vellet; in those very breeches 
iest now: by this light, I should ryde to ', is the letter. 162 

Croydon fayre,to meete syr Lancelot Spurrock. j Vnck. When should it be dated? 
I should haue his daughter Luce, and for ! Flow. Mary, Decimo tertio septembris no, 
scuruy tenne pound, a man shal loose nine no decimo tertio Octobris; I, Odobris, so it is. 
hundred three -score and odde pounds, and a j Vnck. Decimo tertio Octobrisl and here 
daily friend beside. By this hande, Vnckle, receiue I a letter that your father dyed in 
tis true. 

Vnck. Why, any thing is true for ought I 


Flow. To see now! why, you shall haue my 
bond, Vnckle, or Tom Whites, lames Brocks, 
or Nick Halls: as good rapyer and dagger 
men, as any be in England. Lets be dambn'd 

Inne: how say you, Kestert 

Path. Yes, truly, syr, your father is deai 

115 these hands of mine holpe to winde him. 

Flow. Dead? 
Path. I, syr, dead. 

73-80 Verse Q, Fl 84-8 Verse Q, Ff 
Nay . . scuruy Verse Q, F J 

125-7 Why . . care Verse Q. F I 132 Catherine 

and Hugh M 140 colourde deroy Q : cnr>: M 

97-9, 106-10 144 whom M 164-5 Didicimo tersios . . trydisinio 
tersios Q : corr. 31 166 Dicditimo tersios Q 



ACT I, Sc. I. 

Flow. Sblood, how should my father come 

Path. Yfaith, syr, according to the old 

Prouerbe: 175 

The childe was borne and cryed, became 

After fell sicke, and dyed. 

Vnck. Nay, cousen, doe not take it so 
heauily. 179 

Flo w. Nay, I cannot weepe you extempory : 
mary, some two or three dayes hence, I shall 
weep without any stintance. But I hope he 
dyed in good memory. 183 

Path. Very well, syr, and set downe euery 
thing in good order; and the Katherine and 
Hue you talkt of, I came ouer in: and I 
saw all the billes of lading, and the vellet 
that you talkt of, there is no such aboord. 

Flow. By God, I assure you, then, there is 
knauery abroad. 1 90 

Path. lie be sworne of that: ther's knauery 


Altho there were neuer a peece of vellet in 

Flow. I hope he dyed in good estate. 

Path. To the report of the world he did, and 

made his will, 
Of which I am an vnworthy bearer. 1 95 

Flow. His will! haue you his will? 

Folk. Yes, syr, and in the presence of your 

I was willed to deliuer it. 

Vnck. I hope, cousen, now God hath blessed 
you with wealth, you will not be vnmindf ull 
of me. 201 

Flow. He doe reason, Vnckle, yet, yfaith, 
I take the deniall of this tenne pound very 

Vnck. Nay, I denyde you not. 205 

Flow. By God, you denide me directly. 

Vnck. lie be iudge(d) by this good fel- 

Path. Not directly, syr. 209 

Flow. Why, he said he would lend me 
none, and that had wont to be a direct denyall, 
if the old phrase holde. Well, Vnckle, come, 
weele fall to the Legasies: (reads) ' In the 
name of God, Amen. Item, I bequeath to 
my brother Flowerddle three hundred pounds, 
to pay such triu(i}all debts as I owe in London. 
Item, to my sonne Mat Flower dale, I be 
queath two bayle of false dyce; Videllicet, high 
men and loe men, fullomes, stop cater traies, 
and other bones of function.' 220 

180 cannon 207 jndg'd Ff: iudge aood- 

fellowe Q S. D. reads 'add. 11 218 Videlli- 

Sblood, what doth he meane by this? 

Vnck. Proceede, cousen. 

Flow. " These precepts I leaue him: let him 
borrow of his oath, for of his word no body will 
trust him. Let him by no meanes marry au 
honest woman, for the other will keepe her 
self e. Let him steale as much as he can, that 
a guilty conscience may bring him to his 
destinate repentance." I thinke he meanes 
hanging. And this were his last will and 
Testament, the Diuell stood laughing at his 
beddes feete while he made it. Sblood, what, 
doth hee thinke to fop of his posteiitie with 
Paradoxes? 234 

Path. This he made, syr, with his owne 

Flow. I, well; nay, come, good Vnckle, let 
me haue this ten pound. Imagine you haue 
lost it, or (been) robd of it, or misreckond your 
selfe so much: any way to make it come easily 
off, good Vnckle. 241 

Vnck. Not a penny. 

Path. Yfaith, lend it him, syr. I my selfe 
haue an estate in the Citie worth twenty 
pound: all that ile ingage for him; he saith it 
concernes him in a marriage. 246 

Flow. I, marry, doth it. This is a fellow 
of some sense, this: Come, good Vnckle. 

Vnck. Will you giue your word for it, 
Kesterl 250 

Path. I will, syr, willingly. 

Vnck. Well, cousen, come to me some 
hower hence, you shall haue it readie. 

Flow. Shall I not faile? 

Vnck. You shall not, come or send. 255 

Flow. Nay, ile come my selfe. 

Path. By my troath, would I were your 
worships man. 

Flow. What, wouldst thou serue? 

Path. Very willingly, syr. 260 

Flow. Why, ile tell thee what thou shalt 
doe: thou saith thou hast twentie pound; goe 
into Bur chin Lane, put thy selfe into cloathes; 
thou shalt ride with me to Croyden fayre. 264 

Path. I thanke you, syr; I will attend you. 

Flow. Well, Vnckle, you will not faile me 
an hower hence? 

Vnck. I will not, cousen. 

Flow. Whats thy name? Kesterl 

Path. I, syr. 270 

Flow. Well, prouide thy selfe: Vnckle, 
farewell till anon. [Exit Flowerdale. 

221 Prefix Flow, rtpeaied before this line Q, Ff 
223-9 These . . repentance Verne Q, F 1 233 fob 

M : lop WH/AVT 39 been robd pr. td. : robd Q, 

Ff: wererobb'd 31 252 some] an R 262 saist 
Ff, etc. 


ACT I, Sc. I. 


Vnck. Brother, how doe you like your 

Path. Yfaith, brother, like a mad vnbridled 


Or as a Hawke, that neuer stoop'd to lure: 
The one must be tamde with an yron byt, 276 
The other must be watched, or still she is wilde. 
Such is my sonne; awhile let him be so: 
For counsell still is follies deadly foe. 
He serue his youth, for youth must haue his 



For being restrainde, it makes him ten times 

Lance. Nay be not angry, syr, at her deniall. 
Shee hath refus'de seauen of the worshipfulst 
And worthyest hous -keepers this day in Kent: 
Indeed she will not marry, I suppose. 

Wea. The more foole she. 25 

Lance. What, is it folly to loue Chastitie? 

Wea. No, mistake me not, syr Lancelot, 
But tis an old prouerbe, and you know it well, 
That women dying maides lead apes in hell. 

Lance. Thats a foolish prouerbe, and a 
false. 3 

Wea. By the masse I thinke it be, and 
therefore let it goe: 

His pride, his ryot, all that may be named, j But who shall marry with mistresse Prances'! 
Time may recall, and all his madnesse tamed. 


(SCENE IE. The high street in Croydon. An 
inn appearing, with an open drinking 
booth before it.} 

Enter syr Launcelot, Maister Weathercocke, 
Daffidill, Artichoake, Luce, and Francke. 
Lance. Syrrha Artichoake, get you home 


And as you proued your selfe a calfe in bying, 
Driue home your fellow calfes that you haue 


Arti. Yes, forsooth; shall not my fellow 
Daffidill goe along with me? 

I must haue one to 

Lance. No, syr, no; 

waite on me. 5 

Ally. Daffidill, farewell, good fellow Daffi 


You may see, mistresse, I am set vp by the 

In steed of waiting on you, I am sent to driue 

home calues. 
Lance. Yfaith, Francke, I must turne away 

this Daffidill, 

Hees growne a very foolish sawcie fellow. 10 
Fran. Indeed law, father, he was so since 

I had him: 
Before he was wise enough for a foolish 


Wea. But what say you to me, syr Lancelot! 
Lance. O, about my daughters? wel, I will 

goe forward. 
Heers two of them, God saue them: but the 


O shees a stranger in her course of life. 
Shee hath refused you, Maister Weathercocke. 
Wea. I, by the Rood, syr Lancelot, that she 


But had she tride me, 
She should a found a man of me indeed. 20 

Fran. By my troath, they are talking of 

marrying me, sister. 
Luce. Peace, let them talke: 
Fooles may haue leaueto prattle as they walkc. 
Daff. Sentesses still, sweet mistresse; 36 
You haue a wit, and it were your Alliblaster. 
Luce. Yfaith, and thy tongue trips trench - 

Lance. No, of my knight-hood, not a 

shuter yet: 

Alas, God helpe her, sillie girle, a foole, a verie 
foole: 4 

But thers the other black -browes, a shroad 


Shee hath wit at will, and shuters two or three: 
Syr Arthur Greene-sheld one, a gallant knight, 
A valiant Souldier, but his power but poore. 
Then thers yon* Oliuer, the Deuen-shyre lad, 

A wary fellow, marry, full of wit, 46 

And rich by the rood; but thers a third all aire, 
Light as a feather, changing as the wind: 
Young Flower dale. 

Wea. hee, syr, hees a desperate dick in 
deed. 50 
Barre him your house. 

Lance. Fye, not so, hees of good parentage. 
Wea. By my faie and so he is, and a proper 

Lance. I, proper enough, had he good 


Wea. I, marrie, thers the point, syr Lance 
lot, 55 
For thers an old saying: 
Be he rich, or be he poore, 
15 S fie he hye, or be he lowe: 
Be he borne in barne or hall, 
Tis maners makes the man and all. 60 
Lance. You are in the right, maister 

S. f). Exeunt ndd. I! 
20 One. Hut <}, Ff 

Scene II. etc. whl. M 19- 

22-3 Prone Q : con: M 6 Charitie Q : cnrr. K 

27 No, no M 36 Sentences It, dc. 48-9 Otif 

line Q : con: F ? 52 Fie, sir M 57 poore] poe 
conj. M 


ACT I, St. II. 

Enter Mounsier Ciuet. 

duet. Soule, I thinke I am sure crossed, 
or witcht with an owle. I haue hanted them, 

Inne after Inne, booth after booth, yet cannot | worshipfull Maister Weatherco'ckl What, at 
finde them: ha, yonder they are; thats she. j your pinte? a quart for shame. 

Enter yong Flowerdale. 
Flow. Ho w no w? f ye, sit in the open roome ? 
now, good syr Lancelot, & my kind friend 

I hope to God tis shee! nay, I know tis shee 
now, for she treades her shooe a little awry. 

Lance. Where is this Inne? we are past it, 
Daffidill. 69 

Daffidill. The good signe is heere, syr, but 
the back gate is before. 

Ciuet. Saue you, syr. I pray, may I borrow 

Lance. Nay, Royster, by your leaue we will 
away. IIS 

Flow. Come, giues some Musicke, weele 
goe dance. Begone, syr Lancelot! what, and 
fayre day too? 

Luce. Twere fowly done, to dance within 
the fayre. 

Flow. Nay, if you say so, fairest of all 
faires, then ile not dance. A poxe vpon my 
tayler, he hath spoyled me a peach colour 

a peece of a word with you? 

Daff. No peeces, syr. 

Cm. Why, then, the whole. I pray, syr, 
what may yonder gentlewomen be? 76 . satten shute, cut vpon cloath of "siluer, but if 

Daff. They may be Ladies, syr, if the euer the Rascall serue me such an other tricke, 
destinies and mortalitie worke. Ile giue him leaue, yfaith, to put me in the 

Cm. Whats her name, syr? calender of fooles: and you, and you, syr 

Daff. Mistresse Frances Spurcocke, syr Lancelot and Maister Weathercock. My gold- 

Lancelots Spurcockes daughter. 
Cm. Is she a maid, syr? 


smyth too, on tother side I bespoke thee, 
Luce, a carkenet of gold, and thought thou 

Daff. You may aske Pluto, and dame Pro- shouldst a had it for a fayring, and the Rogue 

serpine that: I would be loth to be ridelled, 

Cm. Is she married, I meane, syr? 

Daff. The Fates knowes not yet what shoe 
maker shall make her wedding shooes. 

puts me in rerages for Oryant Pearle: but thou 


85 shalt haue it by Sunday night, wench. 

Enter the Drawer. 
Draw. Syr, here is one hath sent you a 

Cm. I pray, where Inne you syr? I would pcttle of rennish wine, brewed with Rose- 

be very glad to bestowe the wine of that gentle 
woman. 91 

Daff. At the George, syr. 

Cm. God saue you, syr. 

Daff. I pray your name, syr? 

Cm. My name is maister Ciuet, syr. 95 

Daff. A sweet name. God be with you, 
good maister Ciuet. [Exit Ciuet. 

Lance. A, haue we spide you, stout S. 


For all your dragon, you had best selles good 


Flow. To me? 

Draw. No, syr, to the knight; and desires 
his more acquaintance. 139 

Lance. To me? whats he that proues so 

Daff. I haue a tricke to know his name, 
syr. He hath a moneths mind here to mis- 
tresse Frances, his name is maister Ciuet. 

Lance. Call him in, Daffidill. 1 45 

Flow. O I know him, syr, he is a foole, 
But reasonable rich; his father was one of 

That needs no yuie-bush: well, weele not sit these lease -mongers, these corne -mongers, 

by it, ioo 

As you do on your horse. This roome shall 


Drawer, let me haue sacke for vs old men: 
For these girles and knaues small wines are 

A pinte of sacke, no more. 104 

these mony-mongers, but he neuer had the 
wit to be a whore -monger. 150 

Enter maister Ciuet. 

Lance. I promise you, syr, you are at too 
much charge. 

Cyuet. The charge is small charge, syr; I 

Draw. A quart of sack in the three Tunnes. thanke God my father left me wherewithal!: 
Lance. A pinte, draw but a pinte. Daffi- if it please you, syr, I haue a great mind to this 

dill, call for wine to make your selues drinke. j gentlewoman here, in the way of marriage. 156 
Fran. And a cup of small beere, and a 

cake, good Daffidill. i o 9 

OSIinnc (J 

Q : con: M 

VI black gate Ff, 11 106-7 Verse 

Lance. I thanke you, syr: please you come 
to Lewsome 

119 Prtfix Lance Q, Ff: rw>: M 121-4 Nay . . 

sliutc Verse Q, F 1 148 corne-monger- Q 157-00 
Prose Q : ion: M 


ACT I, Sc. II. 


To my poore house, you shall be kindly wel 

I knewe your father, he was a wary husband. 

To paie here, Drawer. 160 

Draw. All is paid, syr : this gentleman hath 

paid all. 

Lance. Yfaith, you do vs wrong, 
But we shall liue to make amends ere long: 
Maister Flower dale, is that your man? 

Flow. Yes, faith, a good old knaue. 1 65 
Lance. Nay, then I thinke 
You will turne wise, now you take such a 

Come, youle ride with vs to Lewsome; lets 

Tis scarce two howres to the end of day. 

[Exit Omnes. 

(ACT II. SCENE I. A road near Sir Lancelot 
Spurcocks house, in Kent.} 

Enter syr Arthur Green -shood, Olyuer, Lieu- 
tennant and Souldiers. 

Awr. Lieuftenant, leade your Souldiers to 

the ships. 
There let them haue their coates, at their 


They shall haue pay: farewell, looke to your 

Sol. I, we are now sent away, and cannot 
so much as speake with our friends. 5 

Oly. No, man; what, ere you vsed a zutch 
a fashion, thicke you cannot take your leaue 
of your vreens? 

Awr. Fellow, no more. Lieuftenant, lead 
them off. 10 

Sol. Well, if I haue not my pay and my 
cloathes, lie venture a running away tho I 
hang fort. 

Awr. Away, surrha, charme your tongue. 
[Exit Souldiers. 

Oly. Bin you a presser, syr? 15 

Aur. I am a commander, syr, vnder the 

0/y. Sfoot, man, and you bee nere zutch 
a commander, shud a spoke with my vreens 
before I chid agone, so shud. 20 

Aur. Content your selfe, man, my au 
thority will stretch to presse so good a man as 

Oly. Presse me? I deuye (ye), presse 
scoundrells, and thy messels: Presse me! chee 
scornes thee, yfaith: For seest thee, heres a 

166 Ends wise : con: 3t Act II. etc. (,,1,1. )l 

S. I). Greenshield M 6-8 No man wliat ere . . 

vreens Q 11-13 Vme Q, Vf 15 Bin and you 

^: con: Ff 24 deuye ycjn: cd.: deuye Q, e'c. 


worshipfull knight knowes cham not to be 
pressed by thee. 2 8 

Enter syr Lancelet, Weather cocke, yong Flower- 
dale, old Flower dale, Luce, Franck. 

Lance. Syr Arthur, welcome to Lewsome, 
welcome by my troath. Whats the matter, 
man? why are you vext? 31 

Oly. Why, man, he would presse me. 

Lance. Fie, syr Arthur, presse him? he 
is (a) man of reckoning. 

Wea. I, that he is, syr Arthur, he hath the 
nobles, 35 

The golden ruddockes he. 

Ar. The fitter for the warres: and were he 


In fauour with your worships, he should see, 
That I haue power to presse so good as he. 

Oly. Chill stand to the triall, so chill. 40 

Flow. I, marry, shall he, presse -cloath and 
karsie, white pot and drowsen broath: tut, 
tut, he cannot. 

Oly. Well, syr, tho you see vlouten cloath 
and karsie, chee a zeene zutch a karsie coate 
weare out the towne sick a zilken lacket, as 
thick a one you weare. 47 

Flow. Well sed, vlitan vlattan. 

Oly. A, and well sed, cocknell, and boe-bell 
too: what, doest thincke cham a vearde of thy 
zilken coate? nefer vere thee. 51 

Lance. Nay, come, no more, be all louers 
and friends. 

Wea. I, tis best so, good maister Olyuer. 

Flow. Is your name maister Oliuer, I pray 
you? 56 

Oly. What tit and be tit, and grieue you. 

Flow. No, but Ide gladly know if a man 
might not haue a foolish plot out of maister 
Oliuer to worke vpon. 60 

Oly. Worke thy plots vpon me! stand a 
side: worke thy foolish plots vpon me! chill 
so vse thee, thou weart neuer so vsed since thy 
dame bound thy head. Worke vpon me? 

Flow. Let him come, let him come. 65 

Oly. Zyrrha, zyrrha, if it were not vor 
shame, chee would a giuen thee zutch a 
whisterpoope vnder the eare, chee would a 
made thee a vanged an other at my feete: 
stand a side, let me loose, cham all of a 
vlaming fire-brand; Stand aside. 71 

Flow. Well, I forbeare you for your friends 

Oly. A vig for all my vreens! doest thou 
tell me of my vreens? 75 

34 a wM. Fl 37 End* faiiour Q : iwr. 31 41-3 
Verse Q : corr. M 51 coate, Q nefer /. (d.: no fer 
Q, Ff no vcar vor thee M 68 whister poope Q, Ff 


ACT II, Sc. I. 

Lance. No more, good maister Oliuer; no 


Syr Arthur. And, maiden, here in the sight 
Of all your shuters, euery man of worth, 
He tell you whom I fainest would preferre 
To the hard bargine of your marriage bed. 
Shall I be plaine among you, gentlemen? 81 

Arth. I, syr, tis best. 

Lance. Then, syr, first to you: 
I doe confesse you a most gallant knight, 
A worthy souldier, and an honest man: 85 
But honestie maintaines (not) a french-hood, 
Goes very seldome in a chain of gold, 
Keepes a small traine of seruants: hath fewe 

And for this wilde oates here, young Flower - 


I will not iudge: God can worke myracles, 90 
But hee were better make a hundred new, 
Then thee a thrifty and an honest one. 

Wea. Beleeue me, he hath byt you there, 
he hath touched you to the quicke, that hath 
he. 95 

Flow. Woodcocke a my sidel why, maister 
Weather cocke, you know I am honest, how- 
soeuer triffles 

Wea. Now, by my troath, I knowe no other - 

your old mother was a dame indeed: 100 
Heauen hath her soule, and my wiues too, I 


And your good father, honest gentleman, 
He is gone a lourney, as I heare, far hence. 

Flow. I, God be praised, he is far enough. 
He is gone a pylgrimage to Paradice, 105 
And left me to cut a caper against care. 
Luce, looke on me that am as light as ayre. 
Luce. Yfaith, I like not shadowes, bubbles, 

1 hate a light a loue, as I hate death. 

Lance. Gyrle, hold thee there: looke on this 
Deuen -shyre lad : no 

Fat, faire, and louely, both in purse and 

0/y. Well syr, cham as the Lord hath 
made me. You know me well, yuine: cha 
haue three -score packe a karsay, and black - 
em hal, and chiefe credit beside, and my 
fortunes may be so good as an others, zoe it 

Luce, (aside to Ar.) Tis you I loue, what- 
soeuer others say. 

Ar. Thanks, fayrest. 120 

76-92 Prose : con: M 82 Prefix Arty. Q 86 
not ad/1. M 93 hyt] hit Ff, etc. 94-5 that he 

hath Ff, etc. 108 breath M : broath Q 114-15 at 
Blackem-Hall M 118 Prefix Lance. Q : con: M 

Flow, (aside to Path.} What, wouldst thou 
haue me quarrell with him? 

Path. Doe but say he shall heare from you. 

Lance. Yet, gentlemen, howsoeuer I pre 

This Deuen -shyre shuter, He enforce no loue; 
My daughter shall haue liberty to choose 126 
Whom she likes best; in your loue shute pro 
Not all of you, but onely one must speed. 

Wea. You haue sed well : indeed, right well, 
f Enter Artychoak. 

Arty. Mistresse, heeres one would speake 
with you. My fellow Daffidill hath him in the 
sellor already: he knowes him; he met him 
at Croyden fayre. 

Lance. O, I remember, a little man. 

Arty. I, a very little man. 1 35 

Lance. And yet a proper man. 

Arty. A very proper, very little man. 

Lance. His name is Mounsier Ciuet. 

Arty. The same, syr. 

Lance. Come, Gentlemen, if other shuters 
come, 140 

My foolish daughter will be fitted too: 
But Delia my saint, no man dare moue. 

[Exeunt all but young Flowerdale and 
Olyuer, and old Flowerdale. 

Flow. Harke you, syr, a word. 

Oly. What haan you to say to me now? 

Flow. Ye shall heare from me, and that 
very shortly. 146 

Oly. Is that all? vare thee well, chee vere 
thee not a vig. [Exit Olyuer. 

Flow. What if (he) should come now? I 
am fairely drest. 150 

Path. I doe not meane that you shall meete 

with him, 

But presently weele goe and draw a will: 
Where weele set downe land that we neuer 


And we will haue it of so large a summe, 
Syr Lancelot shall intreat you take his daughter : 
This being formed, giue it maister Weather- 
cocke, 156 

And make syr Lancelots daughter heire of all: 
And make him sweare neuer to show the will 
To any one, vntil that you be dead. 
This done, the foolish changing Weathercocke 
Will straight discourse vnto syr Lancelot 161 
The forme and tenor of your Testament. 
Nor stand to pause of it, be rulde by mee: 
What will inshue, that shall you quickly see. 

124-6 Ttco lines Q, din. shuter : corr. If 124 

gentleman Q, F 1 S. D. Exeunt] Exit at Q 144 

ha an Q, Ff you say Ff 149 lie add. F 2 now 
R : more Q, Ff 163 Nor] Ne'er M 


ACT II, So. I. 


Flow. Come, lets about it: if that a will, 
sweet Kyt, l6 S 

Can get the wench, I shall renowne thy wit. 

[Exit omnes. 

(SCENE n. A room in sir Lancelot's house.} 
Enter Daffldill 

Daff. Mistresse, still froward? No kind 


Vnto your Daffidilll now by the Gods- 
Luce. Away, you foolish knaue, let my 

hand goe. 
Daff. There is your hand, but this shall 

goe with me: 

My heart is thine, this is my true loues fee. 5 
Luce. lie haue your coate stript ore your 

eares for this, 
You sawcie rascall. 

[Enter Lancelot and Weathercocke 
Lance. How now, maid, what is the newes 

with you? 
Luce. Your man is something sawcie. 

[Exit Luce. 

Lance. Goe too, syrrha, lie talke with you 
anon. 10 

Daff. Syr, I am a man to be talked withall, 
I am no horse, I tro: 
I Know my strength, then no more then so. 

Wea. A, by the matkins, good syr Lancelot, 

I saw him the other day hold vp the bucklers, 

like an Hercules. Ifaith, God a marcie, lad, 

I like thee well. 1 7 

Lance. I, I like him well: go, syrrha, fetch 

me a cup of wine, 

That ere I part with maister Weathercocke, 
We may drinke downe our farewell in French 
wine. 20 

Wea. I thanke you, syr, I thanke you, 

friendly knight. 
He come and visit you, by the mouse -foot I 

In the meane time, take heed of cutting Flo wer 


He is a desperate dyck, I warrant you. 24 
Lance. He is, he is: fill, Daffldill, fill me 
some wine. Ha, what weares he on his 
arme? My daughter Luces bracelet. I, tis 
the same. Ha to you, maister Weathercocke. 
Wea. I thanke you, syr: Here, Daffidill, an 
honest fellow and a tall thou art. Well, ile take 
my leaue, good knight, and hope to haue you 
and all your daughters at my poore house; in 
good sooth I must. 

Scene II. etc. ndd. M 1 Ends froward Q, Ff 

1-2 Prose M 11-13 /Vow M H A] Ay 7.', ttc. 

making M 18 I. I, like Q, Ff: Ay, Av, like 11. ttc. 

Lance. Thankes, maister Weathercocke, I 
shall be bold to trouble you, be sure. 35 

Wea. And welcome hartily; farewell. 

[Exit Weathercocke. 

Lance. Syrrha, I saw my daughters wrong, 

and withall her bracelet on your arme: off 

with it, and with it my liuery too. Haue I 

care to see my daughter matched with men 

of worship, and are you growne so bold? Goe, 

syrrha, from my house, or ile whip you hence. 

Daff. He not be whipped, syr, theres your 

liuery. 43 

This is a seruingmans reward: what care I? 

I haue meanes to trust too: I scorne seruice, I. 

[Exit Daffidill. 

Lance. I, a lusty knaue, but I must let him 

goe, 46 

Our seruants must be taught what they 

should know. (Exit.) 

(SCENE m. The same.) 
Enter syr Arthur and Luce. 

Luce. Syr, as I am a maid, I doe affect 
You aboue any shuter that I haue, 
Altho that souldiers scarce knowes how to loue. 

Ar. I am a souldier, and a gentleman, 
Knowes what belonges to war, what to a lady: 
What man offends me, that my sword shall 

right: 6 

What woman loues me, I am her faithfull 

Luce. I neither doubt your vallour, nor 

your loue, 

But there be some that bares a souldiers forme, 
That sweares by him they neuer thinke vpon, 
Goes swaggering vp and downe from house to 

house, 1 1 

Crying God payes: and 

Ar. Ifaith, Lady, ile discry you such a man. 
Of them there be many which you haue spoke 


That beare the name and shape of souldiers, 1 5 
Yet God knowes very seldome saw the war: 
That haunt your Tauerns, and your ordinaries, 
Your ale-houses sometimes, for all a -like 
To vphold the brutish humour of their mindea, 
Being marked downe, for the bondmen of 

dispare: 20 

Their mirth begins in wine, but endes in 

Their drinke is cleare, but their conceits are 


S. D. Exit Daffodil foUoirn 43 Q S. J>. Exit add. 
M Scene III. Another room in tlie same M 

1-3 Prose Q, Ff: con: M 8-1J Prose Q, Ff : con: 

M 1-2 and] all Jf 



Aci II, St. IV. 

Luce. Yet these are great gentlemen 


Ar. No, they are wretched slaues, 
Whose desperate Hues doth bring them time- 
lesse graues. 25 

Luce. Both for your selfe, and for your 

forme of life, 
If I may choose, ile be a souldiers wife. 


(SCENE IV. The same.} 
Enter syr Lancelot and Oliuer. 

OIL And tyt trust to it, so then. 

Lance. Ashure your selfe, 
You shall be married with all speed we may: 
One day shall serue for Frances and for Luce. 

Oli. Why che wood vaine know the time, 
for prouiding wedding rayments. 6 

Lance. Why, no more but this: first get 

Oly. Here, chill meet him, my vreend, 
chill meet him. 

Lance. Meet him! you shall not meet the 
Ruffin, rye. 

Oly. And I doe not meete him, chill giue 
you leaue to call me cut; where ist, syrrha? 
where ist? where ist? 42 

Path. The letter showes both the time and 

And if you be a man, then keepe your word, 

Lance. Syr, he shal not keepe his word, he 
shal not meet. 

Path. Why, let him choose, heele be the 

better knowne 
For a base rascall, and reputed so. 47 

Oly. Zyrrha, zyrrha: and tweare not an 
old fellow, and sent after an arrant, chid giue 
thee something, but chud be no mony: But 
hold thee, for I see thou art somewhat testorne; 
holde thee, theres vortie shillings: bring thy 

your ashurance made, touching my daughters ^ maister a veeld, chil giue thee vortie more; 
ioynter; that dispatched, we wil in two daies looke thou bring him: chil mall him, tell him, 
make prouision. 10 

Oh'. Why, man, chil haue the writings made 
by to-morrow. 

Lance. To morrow be it then: lets meet at 
the kings head in fish street. 

Oli. No, fie, man, no, lets meet at the Rose 

at Temple-bar. 15 

That will be nearer your counsellor and mine. 

Lance. At the Rose be it then, the hower 


He that comes last forfeits a pinte of wine. 
Oli. A pinte is no payment, let it be a 
whole quart or nothing. 1 9 

Enter Artichoake. 

Arty. Maister, here is a man would speake 
with maister Oliuer: he comes from young 
maister Flowerdale. 

Oli. Why, chill speake with him, chill speake 
with him. 24 

chill mar his dauncing tressels, chil vse him, 
he was nere so vsed since his dam bound his 
head; chill make him for capyring any more, 
chy vor thee. 

Path. You seeme a man, stout and resolute, 
And I will so report, what ere befall. 60 

Lance. And fall out ill, ashure thy maister 

Ile make him flye the land, or vse him worse. 

Fath. My maister, syr, deserues not this of 

And that youle shortly finde. 

Lance. Thy maister is an vnthrift, you a 
knaue, $5 

And ile attache you first, next clap him vp 
Or haue him bound vnto his good behauiour. 

Oly. I wood you were a sprite, if you do 
him any harme for this. And you doe, chill 
nere see you, nor any of yours, while chill 
haue eyes open: what, doe you thinke, chil 

Lance. Nay, sonne Oliuer, ile shurely see be abaffelled vp and downe the towne for 
what young Flowerdale hath sent to you. I a messell and a scoundrel? no, chy vor you: 

pray God it be no quarrell. 

Oly. Why, man, if he quarrell with me, 
chill giue him his hands full. 

[Enter old Flowerdale. 

Path. God saue you, good syr Lancelot. 30 

Lance. Welcome, honest friend. 

Fath. To you and yours my maister 

wisheth health, 

But vnto you, syr, this, and this he sendes: 
There is the length, syr, of his rapier, 34 

And in that paper shall you know his mind. 

S. D. add. X- Scene IV. Another room in the 
same M 25-7 Verse ^ 

zyrrha, chil come; zay no more, chil come, 
tell him. 75 

Fath. Well, sir, my Maister deserues not 

this of you, 

And that youle shortly finde. [Exit. 

Lane. No matter, he's an vnthrift; I defie 


Now, gentle sonne, let me know the place. 
Oly. No, chy vore you. 80 

57 make] mar X 59 man] man, sir M 73 vor] 
bor Q, Ff 78 Prefix Oly. 0, tic. : core. pr. ed. 19 
Prefix Lane, licfore this line Q, tic. Now Pope : >o 
Q, Ff 80 No I'ope : Now (J, Ff 



ACT II, Sc. IV, 


Lane. Let me see the note. 

Oly. Nay, chill watch you for zutch a tricke. 
But if che meet him, zoe, if not, zoe: chill 
make him knowe me, or chill know why I 
shall not, chill vare the worse. 85 

Lane. What, will you then neglect my 

daughters loue? 

Venture your state and hers, for a loose 

0/y. Why, man, chill not kill him; marry, 
chill veze him too, and againe; and zoe God 
be with you, vather. What, man, we shall 
me(e)t to morrow. [Exit. 

Lane. Who would a thought he had bin 
so desperate. 92 

Come forth, my honest seruant Artichoake. 

Enter Artie. 

Arti. Now, what's the matter? some brawle 
toward, I warrant you. 95 

Lane. Goe get me thy sword bright 
scowred, thy buckler mended. for that 
knaue, that Vyllaine Daffldill would haue done 
good seruice. But to thee. 99 

Art. I, this is the trickes of all you gentle 
men, when you stand in neede of a good 
fellow. O for that Daffldill, O where is he? 
but if you be angry, and it bee but fo'r the 
wagging of a strawe, then: out a doores with 
the knaue, turne the coale oner his eares. This 
is the humour of you all. 106 

Lane. for that knaue, that lustie Daffl 

Art. Why, there tis now: our y eares wages 
and our vailes will scarce pay for broken 
swords and bucklers that wee vse in our 
quarrels. But lie not fight if Daffldill bee 
a tother side, that's flat. 113 

Lane. Tis no such matter, man. Get 
weapons ready, and bee at London ere the 
breake of day: watch neere the lodging of the 
Deuon -shire Youth, but be vnseen: and as he 
goes out, as he willgoe out, and that very earely 
without doubt 119 

Art. What, would you haue me draw vpon 
him, as he goes in the streete? 

Lane. Not for a world, man: into the fields; 
for to the field he goes, there to meet the 
desperat Flower dale. Take thou the part of 
Olyuer my sonne, for he shal be my son, 
and marry Luce. Doest vnderstand me, 
knaue ? 

Arty. I, syr, I doe vnderstand you, but my 
young mistresse might be better prouided in 
matching with my fellowe Daffldill. 130 

114-19 Verse M, dh: n/lir ready, clav, youth, out, 
doubt 120-1 Verse Q 122-7 Vem (}, id: 

Lance. No more; Daffidill is a knaue: 
That Daffldill is a most notorious knaue. 

[Exit (Arti.). 

Enter Weathercocke. 

Maister Weathercocke, you come in happy 
time. The desperat Flowerdale hath writ a 
challenge: And who thinke you must an- 
swere it, but the Deuenshyre man, my sonne 
Oliuerl 137 

Wea. Mary, I am sory for it, good syr 


But if you will be ruled by me, weele stay the 

Lance. As how, I pray? 

Wea. Marry, ile tell you: by promising 
yong Flowerdale the red lipped Luce. 142 

Lance. He rather follow her vnto her 

Wea. I, syr Lancelot, I would haue thought 
so too, but you and I haue bene deceiued in 
him: come read this will, or deed, or what 
you call it, I know not. Come, come, your 
spectacles I pray. 149 

Lance. Nay, I thanke God, I see very well. 

Wea. Marry, God blesse your eyes, mine 
hath bene dim almost this thirtie yeares. 

Lance. Ha, what is this? what is this? 

Wea. Nay, there is true loue, indeede: 
He gaue it to me but this very morne, 155 
And bid me keepe it vnseene from any one. 
Good youth, to see how men may be de 

Lance. Passion of me, what a wretch am I 
To hate this louing youth: he hath made me, 
Together with my Luce hee loues so deare, 
Executors of all his wealth. 161 

Wea. All, all, good man; he hath giuen you 

Lance. Three ships now in the straits & 

homeward bound, 

Two Lordships of two hundred pound a yeare, 
The one in Wales, the other in GZos/er-shyre: 
Debts and accounts are thirtie thousand pound; 
Plate, mony, Jewels, 1(5. thousand more; 167 
Two housen furnished well in Cole-man street: 
Beside whatsoeuer his Vnckle leaues to him, 
Being of great demeanes and wealth at Peck- 
ham. . 170 

Wea. How like you this, good knight? 
how like you this? 

Lance. I haue done him wrong, but now 

ile make amends. 
The Deuen-shyre man shall whistle for a wife: 

132 S.D. Arti. mW. /.' 139 the] tlicir M 145-9 
Va-ae M 152 liave FS, clc. 154-61 1'rosc Q, Ff: 
con: M 170 domains M 



Aer III, Sc. I. 

He marrie Luce! Luce shall be Flowerdales. 

Wea. Why, that is friendly said. 175 

Lets ride to London and preuent their match, 
By promising your daughter to that louely 

Lance. Weele ride to London: or it shall 

not need, 
Weele crosse to Dedfort -strand, and take a 

Where be these knaues? what, Artichoakel 

what, Fop? 1 80 

Enter Arlichoake. 
Arty. Heere be the veryknaues, but not the 

merry knaues. 
Lance. Here, take my cloake, ile haue 

a walke to Bedford. 

Arty. Syr, wee haue bin scouring of our 

swords and bucklers for your defence. 184 

Lance. Defence me no defence! let your 

swords rust, ile haue no fighting: I, let blowes 

alone; bid Delia see all things be in readinesse 

against the wedding. Weele haue two at 

once, and that will saue charges, maister 

Weather 'cocke. 190 

Arty. Well, we will doe it, syr. 

[Exit Omnes. 

(ACT HI. SCENE I. A walk before sir 
Lancelot's house.} 

Enter duet, Francke, and Delia. 

Ciu. By my truth, this is good lucke, I 
thanke God for this. In good sooth, I haue euen 
my harts desire: sister Delia, now I may boldly 
call you so, for your father hath franck and 
freely giuen me his daughter Francke. 5 

Fran. I, by my troth, Tom; thou hast my 
good will too, for I thanke God I longed for 
a husband, and, would I might neuer stir, for 
one his name was Tom. 

Delia. Why, sister, now you haue your 
wish. 1 1 

Ciu. You say very true, sister Delia: and 
I prethee call me nothing but Tom and ile call 
thee sweetheart, and Franck: will it not doe 
well, sister Delia! 15 

Delia. It will doe very well with both of you. 

Fran. But, Tom, must I goe as I doe now 
when I am married? 

Ciu. No, Francke, ile haue thee goe like 

a Citizen 
In a garded gowne, and a French -hood. 20 

175 -7 Proxe Q, Ff : dir. nt'/ir London, promising 31 
176 And straight prevent M 17'J Deptford-strand 
M 18-2 Deptiord M Act III. lie. add. M \) 
his] whose M 

Fran. By my troth, that will be excellent 

Delia. Brother, maintaine your wife to 

your estate: 

Apparell you your selfe like to your father, 
And let her goe like to your ancient mother. 
He sparing got his wealth, left it to you; 25 
Brother, take heed of pride, (it) soone bids 

thrift adue. 

Ciu. So as my father and my mother went! 
thats a iest indeed: why she went in a fringed 
gowne, a single ruffe, and a white cap; and my 
father in a mocado coat, a paire of red satten 
sleeues, and a canuis backe. 31 

Delia. And yet his wealth was all as much 

as yours. 

Ciu. My estate, my estate, I thank God, is 
fortie pound a yere, in good leases and tene 
ments, besides twenty marke a yeare at 
cuckoldes-hauen, and that comes to vs all by 
inheritance. 37 

Delia. That may, indeed, tis very fitly plyed. 
I know not how it comes, but so it falles out, 
That those whose fathers haue died wonderous 
rich, 40 

And tooke no pleasure but to gather wealth, 
Thinking of little that they leaue behind 
For them, they hope, will be of their like 

But (it) falles out contrary: forty, yeares 


Is scarce three seuen yeares spending, neuer 

caring 45 

What will inshue, when all their coyne is 


And all too late, then thrift is thought vpon: 
Oft haue I heard, that pride and ryot kist, 
And then repentance cryes, 'for had I wist.' 

Ciu. You say well, sister Delia, you say 
well: but I meane to Hue within my boundes: 
for looke you, I haue set downe my rest thus 
farre, but to maintaine my wife in her french- 
hood, and her coach, keepe a couple of geld 
ings, and a brace of gray hounds, and this is 
all ile doe. s 6 

Delia. And youle do this with fortie pound 

a yeare? 

Ciu. I, and a better penny, sister. 
Fran. Sister, you forget that at couckolds- 
hauen. 60 

Ciu. By my troath, well remembred, 

Ile giue thee that to buy thee pinnes. 

Delia. Keepe you the rest for points: alas 
the day, 

26 it soon 31 : some 0, Ff take heed ; pride soon 
lluz. 44 it add. M 


ACT III, Sc. I. 


Fooles shall haue wealth, tho all the world 

say nay: 

Come brother, will you in? dinner stales for 
vs. 6 S 

Cm. I, good sister, with all my heart. 
Fran. I, by my troath, Tom, for I haue a 
good stomacke. 

Cm. And I the like, sweet Francke. No, 
sister, doe not thinke ile goe beyond my 
boundes. 7 * 

Delia. God grant you may not. 

[Exit Omnes. 

(SCENE H. London. The street before young 
Flowerdale's house.} 

Enter young Flower dale and his father, 

with foyles in their handes. 
Flow. Syrrha Kyt, tarrie thou there, I haue 
spied syr Lancelot, and old Weather cocke com- 
ming this way; they are hard at hand. I will 
by no meanes be spoken withall. 

Path. lie warrant you; goe, get you in. 5 

Enter Lancelot and Weathercocke. 

Lance. Now, my honest friend, thou doest 
belong to maister Flower dale! 

Path. I doe, syr. 

Lance. Is he within, my good fellow? 

Path. No, syr, he is not within. 10 

Lance. I prethee, if he be within, let me 
speake with him. 

Path. Syr, to tell you true, my maister is 
within, but indeed would not be spoke withall: 
there be some tearmes that stands vpon his 
reputation, therefore he will not admit any 
conference till he hath shooke them off. 1 7 

Lance. I prethee tell him his verie good 
friend, syr Lancelot Spurcocke, intreates to 
speake with him. 20 

Path. By my troath, syr, if you come to 
take vp the matter betweene my maister and 
the Deuen-shyre man, you doe but beguile 
your hopes, and loose your labour. 24 

Lance. Honest friend, I haue not any such 
thing to him; I come to speake with him about 
other matters. 

Path. For my maister, syr, hath set down 
his resolution, either to redeeme his honour, 
or leaue his life behind him. 30 

Lance. My friend, I doe not know any 
quarrell, touching thy maister or any other 
person: my businesse is of a different nature 
to him, and I prethee so tell him. 34 

Path. For howsoeuer the Deuenshire man 

is, my maisters mind is bloody : thats a round 0, 
And therefore, syr, intreatie is but vaine: 
Lance. I haue no such thing to him, I tell 

thee once againe. 
Path. I will then so signifie to him. 

[Exit Father. 

Lance. A, syrrha, I see this mattei is hotly 
carried, 40 

But ile labour to disswade him from it. 

Enter Flowerdale. 
Good morrow, maister Flowerdale. 

Flow. Good morrow, good syr Lancelot; 
good morrowe, maister Weathercocke. By my 
troath, gentlemen, I haue bene a reading ouer 
Nick Matchiuill; I find him good to be known, 
not to be followed: a pestilent humane fellow. 
I haue made certaine anatations of him such 
as they be. And how ist syr Lancelot"! ha? 
how ist? A mad world, men cannot Hue quiet 
in it. 5' 

Lance. Maister Flowerdale, I doe vnder- 

stand there is 
Some iarre betweene the Deuen-shyre man 

and you. 
Path. They, syr? they are good friends as 

can be. 

Flow. Who? maister Oliuer and I? as good 

friends as can be. 55 

Lance. It is a kind of safe tie in you to denie 

it, and a generous silence, which too few are 

indued withall: But, syr, such a thing I heare, 

and I could wish it otherwise. 59 

Flow. No such thing, syr Lancelot, a my 

reputation, as I am an honest man. 

Lance. Now I doe beleeue you, then, if you 


Ingage your reputation there is none. 63 

Flow. Nay, I doe not ingage my reputation 

there is not. You shall not bind me to any 

condition of hardnesse: but if there be any 

thing betweene vs, then there is; if there be 

not, then there is not: be or be not, all is one. 

Lance. I doe perceiue by this, that there is 

something betweene you, and I am very sorie 

for it. 71 

Flow. You may be deceiued, syr Lancelot. 

The Italian hath a pretie saying, Questo 

I haue forgot it too, tis out of my head, but 

in my translation, ift hold, thus: (If) thou hast 

a friend, keepe him; if a foe, trip him. 76 

Lance. Come, I doe see by this there is 

somewhat betweene you, and, before God, I 

could wish it other wise. 7 9 

69-71 Verne Q, Ff Scene II. etc. add. M 
Verne Q, Ff 

37 intreaties is F 1 : intreatics are F 


!>;-.</ (). Ff 5J-3 Div. dflcr iarre Q, F 1 : Pro*e F2 
50-122 brawlc Vo-xf Q.F1 CO a] at R : on M M-8 
Vu-ne 0, Ff 05 is none Mult. 75 If mid. .V 




Flow. Well what is betweene vs can hardly 
be altered. Syr Lancelot, I am to ride forth 
to morrow. That way which I must ride, no 
man must denie me the Sunne; I would not ; 
by any particular man be denied common 
and generall passage. If any one saith, 
Flowerdale, thou passest not this way: my 
answere is, I must either on or returne, but 
returne is not my word, I must on: if I cannot, 
then, make my way, nature hath done the 
last for me, and thers the fine. 90 

Lance. Maister Flowerdale, euery man 
hath one tongue, and two eares: nature, in 
her building, is a most curious worke-maister. 

Flow. That is as much (as) to say, a man 
should heare more then he should speake. 95 

Lance. You say true, and indeed I haue 
heard more then at this time I will speake. 

Flow. You say well. 

Lance. Slanders are more common then 
troathes, maister Flowerdale: but proofe is 
the rule for both. 101 

Flow. You say true; what doe you call 
him hath it there in his third canton. 

Lance. I haue heard you haue bin wild: 
I haue beleeued it. 105 

Flow. Twas fit, twas necessarie. 

Lance. But I haue seene somewhat of late 
in you, that hath confirmed in me an opinion 
of goodnesse toward you. 109 

Flow. Yfaith, syr, I am shure I neuer did 
you harme: some good I haue done, either to 
you or yours, I am shure you know not; 
neither is it my will you should. 

Lance. I, your will, syr. 1 1 4 

Flow. I, my will, syr? sfoot, doe you know 
ought of my will? Begod, and you doe, syr, 
I am abused. 

Lance. Goe, maister Flowerdale; what I 
know, I know: and know you thus much out 
of my knowledge, that I truly loue you. For 
my daughter, she's yours. And if you like 
a marriage better then a brawle, all quirks of 
reputation set aside, goe with me presently: 
And where you should fight a bloodie battle, 
you shall be married to a louely Ladie. 1 25 

Flow. Nay but, syr Lancelot 

Lance. If you will not imbrace my offer, 
yet ashure your self thus much, I will haue 
order to hinder your incounter. 129 

Flow. Nay, but heare me, syr Lancelot. 

Lance. Nay, stand not you vpon imputatiue 
honour. Tis meerely vnsound, vnprofitable, 
and idle inferences : your busines is to wedde 
my daughter, therefore giue me your present 

94 as niltl. F : 
Inferences Q 

l-'l Sht-'s F/: She Q 1*3 idle : 

word to doe it. He goe and prouide the maid, 

therefore giue mee your present resolution, 

either now or neuer. 137 

Flow. Will you so put me too it? 

Lance. I, afore God, either take me now, 

or take me neuer. Else what I thought 

should be our match, shal be our parting; 

so fare you well for euer. 142 

Flow. Stay: fall out what may fall, my 

loue is aboue all: I will come. 

Lance. I expect you, and so fare you well. 
[Exit syr Lancelot. 

Path. Now, syr, how shall we doe for 

wedding appar ell? 146 

Flow. By the masse, thats true: now 

helpe, Kyt; 
The marriage ended, weele make amendes for 

Path. Well, no more, prepare you for your 


We will not want for, what so ere 

betide. 150 

Flow. And thou shalt see, when once I 

haue my dower, 
In mirth weele spend full many a merry 


As for this wench I not regard a pin, 
It is her gold must bring my pleasures in. 154 


Path. 1st possible, he hath his second lining, 
Forsaking God, himselfe to the diuel giuing? 
But that I knew his mother firme and chast, 
My heart would say my bed she had disgrast: 
Else would I sweare he neuer was my sonne, 
But her faire mind so fowle a deed did shun. 

Enter VncJde. 

Vnck. How now, brother, how doe you 
find your sonne? 1 61 

Fat h. O brother, heedless e as a libertine, 
Euen growne a maister in the schoole of 


One that doth nothing but inuent desceit: 
For all the day he humours vp and downe, 1 65 
How he the next day might deceiue his friend. 
He thinkes of nothing but the present time: 
For one groat readie downe, heele pay a 


But then the lender must needes stay for it. 
When I was young, I had the scope of youth, 
Both wild, and wanton, carelesse and des 
perate: 17* 
But such mad straines as hee's possest withall, 
I thought it wonder for to dreame vpon. 

139 Prffix Luce 0, Ff 149 Well, well M 150 
wliate'er'.V S. 'D. mhl M 159, 160 trs. S 

166 may Haz. 




Vnck. I told you so, but you would not vese him, and chevang him in hand ; che would 

beleeue it. 

Path. Well, I haue found it, but one thing 
comforts me: '75 

Brother, to morrow hee's to be married 
To beautious Luce, syr Lancelot Spurcocks 


Vnck. 1st possible? 
Path. Tis true, and thus I meane to curbe 



This day, brother, I will you shall arrest him: 
If any thing will tame him, it must be that, 
For he is ranck in mischiefe, chained to a life, 
That will increase his shame, and kill his wife. 
Vnck. What, arrest him on his wedding 
day? 184 

That were vnchristian, and an vnhumane part: 
How many couple euen for that very day 
Hath purchast 7 yeares sorrow afterward? 
Forbeare him then to day, doe it to morrow, 
And this day mingle not his ioy with sorrow. 

boyst him, and giue it him too and againe, zo 
chud: Who bin a there? syr Arthur \ chil 
staie aside. 8 

Ar. I haue dogd the Deuen-shyre man into 

the field, 
For feare of any harme that should befall 


I had an inckling of that yesternight, 
That Flower dale and he should meet this 


Tho, of my soule, Oliuer feares him not, 
Yet for ide see f aire play on either side, 1 4 
Made me to come, to see their valours tride. 
God morrow to maister Oliuer. 

Oli. God an good morrow. 

Ar. What, maister Oliuer, are you angry? 

Oli. Why an it be, tyt and greeuen you? 

Ar. Not me at all, syr, but I imagine by 
Your being here thus armed, you stay for 
some 21 

Path. Brother, ile haue it done this very That you should fight withall. 

day, i 90 

And in the viewe of all, as he comes from 


Doe but obserue the course that he will take. 
Vpon my life he will forsweare the debt: 
And for weele haue the summe shall not be 

Say that he owes you neere three thousand 

pound: 195 

Good brother, let (it) be done immediately. 

Vnck. Well, seeing you will haue it so, 
Brother, ile doot, and straite prouide the 

Falh. So, brother, by this meanes shall we 


What syr Lancelot in this pinch will do: 200 
And how his wife doth stand affected too him 
Her loue will then be tried to the vttermost 
And all the rest of them. Brother, what I will 

Shall harme him much, and much auaile him 

too. [Exit. 

(SCENE m. A high road near London. 

Enter Oliver; afterwards sir Arthur 


Oly. Cham ashured thick be the place, that 
the scoundrell appointed to meet me: if a 

Oli. Why, and he doe, che would not 

dezire you to take his part. 
Ar. No, by my troath, I thinke you need it 


For he you looke for, I thinke meanes not to 
come. 25 

Oli. No, & che war ashure a that, ched 
avese him in another place. 

[Enter Daffidill. 
Daff. syr Arthur, maister Oliuer, aye 

Your loue, and yours, and mine, sweet mistresse 


This morne is married to young Flowerdale. 
Ar. Married to Flowerdalel tis impossible. 
Oli. Married, man, che hope thou doest 
butiest, 31 

To make an a volowten meryment of it. 

tis too true. Here comes his 

come, zo: if a come not, zo. And che war ' daughter here, 
avise, he should make a coystrell an vs, ched Arth. Vnto her? 

177 Lancelots Spurcocks Q 180 This] That Hnz. 
Brother, that day Mali. 185 were] were an M 

and an] and M 188 him] it R 189 this] that 

Hnz. 190 tills] the Unz. 1% it ntM. Fl Scene 
III. etc. add. M 1-8 Yerse Q, Ff 

Daf. 0, 

Enter Flowerdale (Junior}, Sheriffe, Officers. 
Vncle. God morrow, sir Arthur, good 

morrow, M(aister) Oliuer. 
Oly. God andgood morne, M(aister) Flower- 
dale. I pray you tellen vs, 35 
Is your scoundrell kinsman married? 

Vncle. M(aister) Oliuer, call him what you 
will, but hee is maryed to sir Lanncelots 


5 ched vang M 20-2 Dir. after imagine armed 
0, Ff :ii> make a vlowten M ' :17 Prtfx Vnrlo M : 
Arth. Q, Ff 40 Prrfi.f Arth. M ; Vnrlo 0. Ff Vnto 
M: Sir Arthur, vnto'0. F/ 



Oly. I, ha the olde vellow zarued me thick 

Why, man, he was a promise, chil chud a had 

Is a zitch a voxe? chill looke to his water, che 

vor him. 

Vncle. The musicke playes, they are com- 
ming from the Church. Sheriffe, doe your 
Office: fellowes, stand stoutly too it. 46 

Enter all to the Wedding. 

Oly. God giue you ioy, as the old zaid 
Prouerbe is, and some zorrow among. You 
met vs well, did you not? 49 

Lance. Nay, be not angry, sir, the fault is in 
me. I haue done all the wrong, kept him 
from comming to the field to you, as I might, 
sir, for I am a lustice, and sworne to keepe 
the peace. 54 

Wea. I, marry, is he, sir, a very lustice, and 
sworne to keepe the peace: you must not 
disturbe the weddings. 

Lane. Nay, neuer frowne nor storme, sir; 

if you doe, 
He haue an order taken for you. 

0/y. Well, Well, chill be quiet. 60 

Wea. M(aister) Flower dale\ sir Lancelot, 
looke you who here is. M(aister) Flowerdale. 

Lane. M(aister) Flowerdale, welcome with 
all my heart. 

Flow. Vncle, this is she, yfaith: Maister 
Vnder -sheriff e, 65 

Arrest me? at whose sute? draw, Kit. 

Vnc. At my sute, sir. 

Lance. Why, whats the matter M(aister) 
Flower dale 1 } 69 

Vnc. This is the matter, sir: this vnthrift 
here hath cozened you, and hath had of me, 
in seuerall summes, three thousand pound. 

Flow. Why, Vncle, Vncle. 

Vnck. Cousen, cousen, you haue vnckled 
me, and if you be not staid, youle proue a 
cousoner vnto all that know you. 76 

Lance. Why, syr, suppose he be to you in 

Ten thousand pound, his state to me ap- 

To be at least three thousand by the yeare. 

Vnck. syr, I was too late informed of that 
plot, 80 

How that he went about to cousen you: 
And formde a will, and sent it 
To your good friend there, maister Weather- 

42 cliil] ? che 65, 61 Wea. Ff ' : Whe. Q 70-2 
Verne Q, Ff 78 appeare Q : appears Ff 81', 8:5 
Fwl good, was Q, Ff 

In which was nothing true, but brags and 

Lance, Ha, hath he not such Lordships, 
landes, and shippes? 86 

Vnck. Not worth a groat, not worth a 
halfepenie, he. 

Lance. I pray, tell vs true, be plaine, young 
Flowerdalel 90 

Flow. My vnckle here's mad, and dis 
posed to do me wrong, but heer's my man, an 
honest fellow, by the lord, and of good credit, 
knowes all is true. 

Path. Not I, syr. 95 

I am too old to lye, I rather know 
You forgde a will, where euery line you writ, 
You studied where to coate your landes 
might lye. 

Wea. And I prethee, where be they, 
honest friend? 100 

Path. Yfaith, no where, syr, for he hath 
none at all, 

Wea. Benedicitie, we are ore wretched, I 

Lance. I am cousend, and my hopefulst 
child vndone. 106 

Flow. You are not cousend, nor is she 
vndone. They slaunder me, by this light 
they slander me: Looke you, my vnckle heres 
an vsurer, and would vndoe me, but ile stand 
in law; do you but baile me, you shal do no 
more: you, brother duet, and maister Weather - 
cocke, doe but baile me, and let me haue my 
marriage mony paid me, and weele ride downe, 
and there your owne eyes shall see, how my 
poore tenants there wil welcome me. You 
shall but baile me, you shall doe no more, 
and, you greedy gnat, their baile will serue. 

Vnck. I, syr, ile aske no better baile. 119 

Lance. No, syr, you shall not take my baile, 

nor his, 

Nor my sonne duets; ile not be cheated, I. 
Shreeue, take your prisoner, ile not deale with 

Let's Vncle make false dice with his false 


I will not haue to doe with him: mocked, guld, 

& wrongd! 124 

Come, Girle, though it be late, it falls out well, 

Thou shalt not liue with him in beggers hell. 

Luc. He is my husband, & hie heauen doth 


With what vnwillingnesse I went to Church, 
But you inforced me, you compelled me too it: 

91 here's] here 91-4 Verse Q, Ff 98 quote 
F 2, etc. 99 they M : thy Q, Ff 100 friends Q, Ff 
103 ore reached Ff 107-18 Verne Q, etc. 118 you] 
you, you conj. St. gnats St. 123 Let's] Let his M 




The holy Church -man pronounced these words 
but now: J 3 

I must not leaue my husband in distresse. 
Now I must comfort him, not goe with you. 
Lane. Comfort a cozoner? on my curse, 

forsake him. 

Luce. This day you caused me on your 
curse to take him: 34 

Doe not, I pray, my greiued soule oppresse, 
God knowes my heart doth bleed at his 


Lane. M(aister) Weathercock, 
I must confesse I forced her to this match, 
Led with opinion his false will was true. 139 
Wea. A, lie hath ouer -reached me too. 
Lane. She might haue liued like Delia, in 

a happie Virgins state. 
Delia. Father, be patient, sorrow comes 

too late. 
Lance. And on her knees she begd & did 


If she must needes taste a sad marriage life, 
She craued to be sir Arthur Greene-sheilds 
wife. i 45 

Ar. You haue done her & me the greater 

Lane. 0, take her yet. * 
Arthur. Not I. 

Lane. Or, M(aister) Oliuer, accept my 
child, 150 

And halfe my wealth is yours. 

Oly. No, sir, chil breake no Lawes. 
Lace. Neuer feare, she will not trouble you. 
Delia. Tet, sister, in this passion, 
Doe not runne headlong to confusion. 155 
You may affect him, though not follow him. 
Frank. Doe, sister; hang him, let him goe. 
Wea. Doe, faith, Mistresse Luce, leaue him. 
Luc. You are three grosse fooles, let me 
alone. 159 

I sweare ile liue with him in all (his) mone. 

Oly. But an he haue his legges at libertie, 
Cham averd hee will neuer liue with you. 
Art. I, but hee is now in hucksters handling 

for running away. 
Lane. Huswife, you heare how you and 

I am wrongd, 

And if you will redresse it yet you may: 1 65 
But if you stand on tearmes to follow him, 
Neuer come neere my sight nor looke on 


Call me not father, looke not for a groat, 
For all thy portion I wil this day giue 
Vnto thy syster Frances. 170 

130 Church-man] church Haz. 137-8 One line 

Q.Fl 150 except Q 154-6 Prose Q, Ff 159 
let] pray let M 160 his ,,dd, 11 1& am] are K 

Fran. How say you to that, Tom, I shall 
haue a good deale. Besides ile be a good 
wife: and a good wife is a good thing, I can 
tell. 174 

Ciu. Peace Franck, I would be sorry to see 
thy sister cast away, as I am a Gentleman. 
Lance. What, are you yet resolued? 
Luc. Yes, I am resolued. 
Lane. Come then, away; or now, or neuer, 


Luc. This way I turne, goe you vnto your 
feast, 1 80 

And I to weepe, that am with griefe opprest. 
Lane. For euer flie my sight: come, gentle 
Lets in, ile helpe you to far better wiues then 


Delia, vpon my blessing talke not too her. 
Bace Baggage, in such hast to beggery? 185 
Vnc. Sheriff e, take your prisoner to your 

Flo. Vncle, be -god you haue vsd me very 

By my troth, vpon my wedding day. 

[Exit att (but Luce,) yong Flowerdale, his 

father, Vncle, Sheriffe, and Officers. 

Luc. M(aister) Flowerdale, but heare me 

speake; 189 

Stay but a little while, good M(aister) Sheriffe, 

If not for him, for my sake pittie him: 

Good syr, stop not your eares at my complaint, 

My voyce growes weake, for womens words 

are faint. 

Flow. Looke you, Vncle, she kneeles to you. 

Vnc. Faire maid, for you, I loue you with 

my heart, 1 95 

And greeue, sweet soule, thy fortune is so bad, 

That thou shouldst match with such a grace- 

lesse Youth. 

Go to thy father, thinke not vpon him, 
Whom hell hath marked to be the sonne of 


Luc. Impute his wildnesse, syr, vnto his 

youth, 200 

And thinke that now is the time he doth 


Alas, what good or gayne can you receiue, 
To imprison him that nothing hath to pay? 
And where nought is, the king doth lose his 


0, pittie him, as God shall pittie you. 205 
Vnc. Ladie, I know his humours all too 


And nothing in the world can doe him good, 
But miserie it selfe to chaine him with. 

171-6 Verse Q, Ff 187-8 Prow M 
yong Q, Ff: all but Luce, young 7? 

5. D. all : 




Luc. Say that your debts were paid, then 

is he free? 
Vnc. I, virgin, that being answered, I haue 

done, 210 

But to him that is all as impossible, 
As I to scale the hye Piramydies. 
Sheriff e, take your prisoner: Maiden, fare 

thee well. 

Luc. goe not yet, good M(aister) Flower- 
Take my word for the debt, my word, my 

bond. 215 

Flow. I, by God, Vncle, and my bond too. 
Luc. Alas, I nere ought nothing but I paid 


And I can worke; alas, he can doe nothing: 
I haue some friends perhaps will pittie me, 
His chiefest friends doe seeke his miserie. 220 
All that I can or beg, get, or receiue, 
Shall be for you: doe not turne away; 
Me thinkes, within, a face so reuerent, 
So well experienced in this tottering world, 
Should haue some feeling of a maidens grief e: 
For my sake, his fathers, and your brothers 

sake, 226 

I, for your soules sake that doth hope for ioy, 
Pittie my state: do not two soules destroy. 
Vnc. Faire maid, stand vp; not in regard 

of him, 

But in pittie of thy haplesse choise, 230 

I doe release him. M(aister) Sheriffe, I thanke 


And, officers, there is for you to drinke. 
Here, maide, take this monie; there is a 100 


And for I will be sure he shall not haue it, 
Here, Kester, take it you, and vse it sparingly, 
But let not her haue any want at all. 236 
Dry your eyes, Neece, doe not too much 

For him, whose life hath beene in ryot 

spent : 

If well he vseth thee, he gets him friends, 
If ill, a shamefull end on him depends. 240 

[Exit Vncle. 

Flow. A plague goe with you for an old 
fornicator. Come, Kyt, the monie; come, 
honest Kyt. 

Path. Nay, by my faith, sir, you shall 

pardon me. 245 

Flow. And why, sir, pardon you? giue me 

the mony, you old Rascall, or I shall make 


209 debt M 223 within a Q, Ff: that one with 
.5 reverend /?, tic. 225 haue] live row/. St. 

238 royot Q 241-3, 246-8 lYm Q, Ff 247 shall] 
will R 

Luc. Pray, hold your hands: giue it him, 
honest friend. 250 

Path. If you be so content, with all my 

Flow. Content, syr: sblood, shee shall be 
content, whether she will or no. A rattle 
baby come to follow me! Goe, get you gone to 
the greasie chuffe your father, bring me your 
dowrie, or neuer looke on me. 257 

Futh. Syr, she hath forsooke her father and 
all her friends for you. 

Flow. Hang thee, her friends and father 

Path. Yet part with something to prouide 
her lodging. 263 

Flo. Yes, I meane to part with her and you, 
but if I part with one Angel, hang me at a 
poste. lie rather throwe them at a cast at 
Dice, as I haue done a thousand of their 
fellowes. 268 

Path. Nay, then, I will be plaine, degenerate 


Thou hadst a Father would haue beene 
a shamed'. 270 

Flow. My father was an Asse, an old Asse. 

Path. Thy father? proud, lycentious vil- 


What, are you at your foyles? ile foyle with 

Luc. Good sir, forbeare him. 

Path. Did not this whining woman hang 

on me, 275 

Ide teach thee what it was to abuse thy father: 

Goe I hang, beg, starue, dice, game, that when 

all is gone, 
Thou maist after dispaire and hang thy selfe. 

Luce. 0, doe not curse him. 

Path. I doe not curse him, and to pray for 

him were vaine; 280 

It greeues me that he beares his fathers name. 

Flow. Well, you old rascall, I shall meet 
with you. Syrrha, get you gone; I will not 
strip the liuery ouer your eares, because you 
paid for it: but do not vse my name, syrrha, 
doe you heare? looke you doe not vse my 
name, you were best. 287 

Path. Pay me the twentie pound, then, that 

I lent you, 
Or giue me securitie, when I may haue it. 

Flow. Ile pay thee not a penny, and for 
securitie, ile giue thee none. Minckins, looke 
you doe not follow me, looke you doe not: 
If you doe, begger, I shall slit your nose. 293 

Luce. Alas, what shall I doe? 

253-7 Verse 0, Ff 266 cast of F 3, etc. 272 

! proud] thou proud M 281 Fathers Ff: father Q 

1 1:82-7 1 'erst Q, Ff 290-3 Verse <?, tic. 




Flow. Why, turne whore, thats a good 
trade, 2 95 

And so perhaps ile see thee now and then. 

[Exit Flowerdale. 

Luce. Alas the day that euer I was borne. 
Path. Sweete mistresse, doe not weepe, ile 

sticke to you. 
Luce. Alas, my friend, I know not what to 


My father and my friends, they haue despised 

me: 3 

And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away, 

Knowes neither where to goe, nor what to say. 

Path. It grieues me at the soule, to see her 


Thus staine the crimson roses of her cheekes. 
Lady, take comfort, doe not mourne in vaine. 

I haue a little liuing in this towne, 


The which I thinke comes to a hundred pound, 
All that and more shall be at your dispose. 
Ile straite goe helpe you to some strange dis 

Come, greeue no more, where no helpe can 

be had, 
Weepe not for him that is more worse then 

Luce. I thanke you, syr. (Exeunt.} 

praise for a prettie wench. But, father, done 
is the mouse: youle come? 17 

Lance. I, sonne duet, ile come. 

Ciu. And you, maister Oliuerl 

Oli. I, for che a vext out this veast, chill 
see if a gan make a better veast there. 21 

Ciu. And you, syr Arthurt 

Ar. I, syr, although my heart be full, 
lie be a partner at your wedding feast. 

Ciu. And welcome all indeed, and welcome: 
come, Francke are you readie? 2 6 

Fran. leshue, how hastie these husbands 
are. I pray, father, pray to God to blesse me. 

Lance. God blesse thee, and I doe: God 

make thee wise, 
Send you both ioy: I wish it with wet eyes. 30 

Fran. But, Father, shall not my sister Delia 
goe along with vs? She is excellent good at 

cookery and such things. 

Lance. Yes, mary, shall she: Delia, make 
you ready. 35 

Deli. I am ready, syr. I will first goe to 

And place you in a seruice in this towne, 310 j Greene -witch, from thence to my cousen 
Where you shal know all, yet your selfe Chesterfeelds, and so to London. 

Ciu. It shall suffice, good sister Delia, it 
shall suffice, but failevsnot, good sister; giue 
order to cookes, and others, for I would not 
haue my sweet Francke to soyle her fingers. 

Fran. No, by my troath, not I: a gentle 
woman, and a married gentlewoman too, to 
be companions to cookes and kitchin-boyes! 

(ACT IV. SCENE I. A room in Sir Lancelot 

Spurcocks house in Kent.} 
Enter syr Lancelot, maister Weathercocke 

and them. 

Oli. Well, cha a bin zerued many a sluttish 
tricke, but such a lerripoope as thick ych was 
nere a sarued. 

Lance. Son duet, daughter Frances, 

beare with me, 

You see how I am pressed downe with inward 
griefe, 5 

About that lucklesse gyrle, your sister Luce: 
But tis fallen out with me, 
As with many families beside, 
They are most vnhappie, that are most be- 
loued. 9 

not I, yfaith: I scorne that. 


Ciu. Why, I doe not meane thou shalt, 
sweete heart; thou seest I doe not goe about it: 
well farewell too you. Gods pitty, M'aister) 
Weathercocke, we shal haue your company 
too? 51 

Wea. With all my heart, for I loue good 

Ciu. Well, God be with you all. Come, 
Francke. 54 

Fran. God be with you, father, God be with 
you, syr Arthur, Maister Qliuer, and maister 
Weathercocke, sister, God be with you all: 
God be with you, father, God be with you 
euery one. 59 

(Exeunt Civet and Frances.) 

Wea. Why, how now, syr Arthur! all a 
mort? maister Oliuer, how now man? 

Ciu. Father, tis so, tis euen fallen out so, 7 

but what remedie? set hand to your heart, | Cheerely, syr Lancelot, and merily say, 
and let it passe. Here is your daughter Who can hold that will away? 
Frances and I, and weele not say, weele bring 
forth as wittie children, but as prettie children 
as euer she was: tho she had the pricke and 

302 Know M S. 1>. wl<\. I! Act IV. etc. nM. 
M 7-8 One line Q, Ff: Air. ri//r>-out M 10-17 

Yersr Q. f/f., xtroi lines Q, Ff: tight li'ixn M 

Lance. I, shee is gone indeed, poore girle, 


But when theyle be selfewilled, children must 


31-51 Verse 0, v f 45 companion F ?. dc. 
too : You Q, Ff ft. />. mW. M 



ACT IV, Sc. II. 

Ar. But, syr, that she is wronged, you are I In prison, or at libertie, alls one: 
the chief est cause, 65 j You will helpe to serue them, maister Weather- 

cocket [Exit Omnes. 

Therefore tis reason, you redresse her wrong. 
Wea. Indeed you must, syr Lancelot, you 

Lance. Must ? who can compell me, 

maister Weathercock! 
I hope I may doe what I list. 

Wea. I grant you may, you may doe what 

you list. 70 

Oil. Nay, but and you be well euisen, it 

(SCENE II. A street in London.} 

Enter Flower dale. 

Flow. A plague of the diuell! the diuell 
take thedyce! The dyce, and the diuell, and 
his damme goe together. Of all my hundred 
golden angels, I haue not left me one denier: 

were not good by this vrampolnesse, and j A poxe of come a fine, what shall I doe? I can 
vrowardnesse, to cast away as pretty a dows- \ borrow no more of my credit: there's not any 

sabell, as ani chould chance to see in a 
Sommers day. Chil tell you what chall doe. 
Chil goe spye vp and downe the towne, and 
see if I can heare any tale or tydings of her, 
and take her away from thick a messell, vor 
cham ashured, heele but bring her to the 
spoile. And so var you well; we shall meete 
at your sonne Ciuets. 81 

Lance. I thanke you, syr, I take it very 

Arth. To find her out, ile spend my dearest 

So well I loued her, to affect her good. 

[Exit both. 

Lance. maister Weather -cocke, 85 

What hap had I, to force my daughter 
From maister Oliuer, and this good knight 
To one that hath no goodnesse in his thought? 
Wea. Ill lucke, but what remedie? 
Lance. Yes, I haue almost deuised a 
remedy: 90 

Young Flower dale is shure a prisoner. 
Wea. Shure, nothing more shure. 
Lance. And yet perhaps his Vnckle hath 

released him. 
Wea. It may be very like, no doubt he 


Lance. Well, if he be in prison, ile haue 
warrants 95 

To tache my daughter till the lawe be tried, 
For I will shue him vpon couzonage. 

Wea. Mary, may you, and ouerthrow him 

Lance. Nay, thats not so, I may chance 

be scoft, 

And sentence past with him. 100 

Wea. Beleeue me, so he may, therefore 

take heede. 

Lance. Well howsoeuer, yet I will haue 

71 aviscn M 71-81 Verne 0, Ff 74 ani pr. eil.: 
am Q, Ff: an M 77 dydings : tidings Ff, etc. 

8:5 Prtflr Arty Q : Arti Ff 84 .<?. D. folloim 83 Q, Ff 
85-8 hit. I, Oliver, goodness -V 101 he] it M 

of my acquaintance, man, nor boy, but I haue 
borrowed more or lesse off: I would I knewe 
where to take a good purse, and goe cleare 
away; by this light, ile venture for it. Gods 
lid, my sister Delia! Ile rob her, by this hand. 

Enter Delia, and Artichoake. 
Deli. I prethee, Artichoake, goe not so fast: 
The weather is hot, and I am something 
wearie. 13 

Arti. Nay, I warrant you, mistresse Delia, 
ile not tire you with leading; weele goe an 
extreame moderate pace. 
Flow. Stand, deliuer your purse. 
Arti. O lord, theeues, theeues! , 

[Exit Artichoake. 
Flow. Come, come, your purse, ladie, your 


Deli. That voice I haue heard often before 
this time. 20 

What, brother Flower dale become a theefe? 

Flow. I, a plague ont, I thanke your father. 

But, sister, come, your mony, come! What, 

The world must find me, I am borne to Hue, 

Tis not a sinne to steale, when none will giue. 

Deli. God, is all grace banisht from thy 

heart? 26 

Thinke of the shame that doth attend this 

Flow. Shame me no shames; come, giue me 

your purse. 

Ile bind you, sister, least I faire the worse. 
Deli. No, bind me not: hold, there is all I 
haue, 30 

And would that mony would redeeme thy 

Enter Oliuer, syr Arthur, and Artichoake. 

Arti. Theeues, theeues, theeues! 

Oli. Theeues? where, man? why, how now 

mistresse Delia! 
Ha you a liked to bin a robbed? 

i Scene II. etc. odd. M ^3 Ends come Q, Ff 


ACT IV, Sc. II. 


Delia. No, maister Oliuer; tis maister 
Flower dale, hee did but iest with me. 36 

OIL How, Flower dale, that scoundrell? 
sirrha, you meten vs well: vang thee that. 

Flow. Well, sir, ile not meddle with you, 
because I haue a charge. 4 

Deli. Here, brother Flower dale, ile lend you 
this same mony. 

Flow. I thanke you, sister. 

OIL I wad you were ysplit, and you let the 
mezell haue a penny. But since you cannot 
keepe it, chil keepe it my selfe. 4 6 

Ar. Tis pittie to releeue him in this sort, 
Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport. 

Delia. Brother, you see how all men cen 
sure you, 
Farewell, and I pray God amend your life. 50 

Oly. Come, chill bring you along, and you 
safe enough from twentie such scoundrells as 
thick a one is. Farewell and be hanged, 
zyrrha, as I thinke so thou wilt be shortly. 
Come, syr Arthur. 55 

[Exit all but Flower dale. 

Flow. A plague goe with you for a karsie 

This Deuenshyre man, I think, is made all of good sister. 

Luce. Me sail doe euery ting about da head. 

Ciu. What countriwoman is she, Kestert 

Path. A dutch woman, sir. 15 

Ciu. Why then she is outlandish, is she 

Path. I, Syr, she is. 

Fran. 0, then, thou canst tell how to helpe 
mee to cheekes and eares? 20 

Luce. Yes, mistresse, verio veil. 

Path. Cheekes and eares! why, mistresse 
Frances, want you cheekes and eares? me 
thinkes you haue very faire ones. 

Fran. Thou art a foole indeed. Tom, thou 
knowest what I meane. 26 

Ciu. I, I, Kester, tis such as they weare a 
their heads. I prethee, Kit, haue her in, and 
shewe her my house. 

Path. I will, sir. Come, Tanikin. 30 

Fran. Tom, you haue not bussed me to 
day, Tom. 

Ciu. No, Frances, we must not kisse afore 
folkes. God saue me, Francke, 

Enter Delia, and Artichoake. 
See yonder my sister Delia is come. Welcome, 


His hands made onely for to heaue vp packs: 
His hart as fat and big as his face; 
As differing far from all braue gallant minds 
As I to serue the hogges, and drinke with 

hindes, 61 

As I am very neere now. Well, what remedie? 
When mony, meanes, and friends doe growe 

so small, 

Then farewell life, and ther's an end of all. 


(SCENE m. Another street. Before Civefs 


Enter Father, Luce like a Dutch Frow, duet, 
and his wife mistresse Frances. 

Fran. Welcome, good sister, how do you 
like the tier of my head? 

Delia. Very well, sister. 

Ciu. I am glad you're come, sister Delia, 
to giue order for supper; they will be here 
soone. 42 

Arty. I, but if good luck had not serued, 
she had not bin here now: niching Flower dale 
had like to peppord vs; but for maister Oliuer, 
we had bin robbed. 46 

Deli. Peace, syrrha, no more. 

Path. Robbed! by whom? 

Arty. Marry, by none but by Flower dale; 
he is turned theefe. 50 

Ciu. By my faith, but that is not well; but 
God be praised for your escape. Will you 

Ciu. By my troath, god a mercie for this, I dra , w ee ' e ' s * ter? 
good Christopher, I thanke thee for my maide 
I like her very well. How doest thou like her 
Frances! [ 

Fran.' In good sadnesse, Tom, very well 1 . i 
excellent well; she speakes so prettily.-I pray tha * 
whats your name? 

Luce. My name, forsooth, be called and speake no more of this. 60 

inikin Arty. Not I, not a word. Now do I smell 

, , P7 

, f "?' **** come hltl V*- Would Flower- 
^ e > *"* th J w mv master, a robbed you? 
* P re thee, tell me true. 56 

J 63 ' ^ aith ' euen **** Flowerdale > 

JRlftftk v K 

Path. Hold thee, there is a French crowne, 


Tanikin. 9 

Fran. By my troath, a fine name. ; T 

Tanikin, you are excellent for dressing ones In euery purse Flowerdale takes - he 1S h alfe: 
head a newe fashion. 

4S trompant coiij. M 49 consurc Q 64 S. />. 
Exit omnes Q Scene III. etc. add. M 1-7 Yerxe 

And giues me this to keepe counsell. No, 
not a word I. 

:U save my Ff 40-G Verse Q, Ff 45 to have 
pepper'd M 63 No om. Ff, etc. 



ACT V, Sc. I. 

Path. Why, God a mercy. 
Fran. Sister, looke here, I haue a new 
Dutch maid, and she speakes so fine, it would 
doe your heart good. 67 

Cin. How doe you like her, sister? 
Deli. I like your maide well. 
Ciu. Well, deare sister, will you draw 
neere, and giue directions for supper? guests 
will be here presently. 72 

Delia. Yes, brother; leade the way; ile 
follow you. 

\Exit all but Delia and Luce. 
Harke you, Dutch frowe, a word. 
Luce. Vat is your vill wit me? 
Deli. Sister Luce, tis not your broken lan 
guage, 76 
Nor this same habit, can disguise your face 
From I that know you: pray tell me, what 

meanes this? 
Luce. Sister, I see you know me; yet be 


This borrowed shape, that I haue tane vpon 
me, 80 

Is but to keepe my selfe a space vnknowne, 
Both from my father, and my neerest f riendes, 
Vntill I see how time will bring to passe 
The desperate course of maister Flowerdale. 
Deli. hee is worse then bad, I prethee 
leaue him, 85 

And let not once thy heart to thinke on him. 
Luce. Do not perswade me once to such 

a thought. 

Imagine yet, that he is worse then naught: 
Yet one houers time may all that ill vndo, 
That all his former life did run into. 90 

Therefore kind sister doe not disclose my 


If ere his heart doth turne, tis nere too late. 
Dely. Well, seeing no counsell can remoue 

your mind, 

Ile not disclose you that art wilfull blinde. 
Luc. Delia, I thank you. I now must 
please her eies, 95 

My sister Frances, neither faire nor wise. 

[Exit Omnes. 

(ACT V. SCENE I. Scene before Civet's 

Enter Flowerdale solus. 

Flo. On goes he that knowes no end of 

his iourney. I haue passed the very vtmost 

bounds of shifting, I haue no course now but to 

hang my selfe: I haue liued since yesterday 

71 guests F ~>, lit: : guesse Q, F 1 89 hour's M : 
louors 0, Ff: good K Act V. tie. add. . l-i>4 
Verse <j, Ff 

two a clocke of a spice -cake I had at a 
buriall: and for drinke, I got it at an Ale-house 
among Porters, such as will beare out a man, 
if he haue no mony indeed I meane out of 
their companyes, for they are men of good 
carriage. Who comes heere? The two 
Conycatchers, that woon all my mony of me. 
lie trie if thayle lend me any. 1 2 

Enter Ditke and Rafe. 

What, M(aister) Richard, how doe you? How 
doest thou, RafeJ By God, gentlemen, the 
world growes bare with me: will you do as 
much as lend me an Angel betweene you both. 
You know you won a hundred of me the other 
day. 1 8 

Rafe. How, an Angel? God damb vs, if we 
lost not euery peny, within an houre after thou 
wert gone. 

Flow. I prethy lend me so much as will 
pay for my supper. Ile pay you againe, as 
I am a Gentleman. 

Rafe. I faith, we haue not a farthing, not 
a myte: 25 

I wonder at it, M(aister) Flowerdale, 
You will so carelesly vndo your selfe. 
Why, you will loose more mony in an houre, 
Then any honest man spend in a yeare. 
For shame, betake you to some honest Trade, 
And line not thus so like a Vagabond. 31 

[Exit both. 
Flow. A Vagabond, indeed! more villain es 


They gaue me counsell that first cozend me: 
Those Diuels first brought me to this I am, 
And being thus, the first that doe me wrong. 
Well, yet I haue one friend left in store: 36 
Not farre from hence there dwels a Cokatryce, 
One that I first put in a satten gowne, 
And not a tooth that dwells within her head, 
But stands me at the least in 20. pound: 40 
Her will I visite now my coyne is gone, 
And, as I take it, heere dwelles the Gentle 
What ho, is Mist(r)esse Apricocke within? 

Enter Ruffyn. 
Ruff. What sawsie Rascall is that which 

knocks so bold? 

O, is it you? old spend -thrift, are you here? 45 
One that is turned Cozoner about the towne: 
My Mistresse saw you, and sends this word by 

Either be packing quickly from the doore, 

5 of] on M '-'5 haue] haue haue Q 29 spends 
Ff, etc. :56 nrkmd <J left me 'in M .39 dwell (J 
4:2 Gentlewomen Q 


ACT V, Sc. I, 


Or you shall haue such a greeting sent you 

and here is halfe a crowne in gold. [He giues 

s t ra it 49 it her.] Nowe, out vpon thee, Rascall! secret 

As you will little like on: you had best be gone. | seruice! what doest thou make of mee? it 
Flow. Why so, this is as it should be: being | were a good deede to haue thee whipt. Now 

I haue my money againe, ile see thee hanged 


Thus art thou serued by a vile painted whoore. 
Well, since thy damned crew doe so abuse thee, 
Ile try of honest men, how they will vse mee. 

Enter an auncient Citizen. 
Sir, I beseech you to take compassion of a man, 
one whose Fortunes haue beene better then at 
this instant they seeme to bee: but if I might 
craue of you some such little portion, as 
would bring mee to my friends, I should rest 
thankfull, vntill I had requited so great a 
curtesie. 6l 

Citizen. Fie, fie, yong man, this course is 

very bad, 

Too many such haue wee about this Cittie, 
Yet for I haue not scene you in this sort, 
Nor noted you to be a common begger: 65 
Hold, theres an Angel, to beare your charges 


Goe to your freinds, do not on this depend: 
Such bad beginnings oft haue worser ends. 68 

[Exit Citt. 

Flow. Worser endes: nay, if it fall out no 
worse then in old angels I care not. Nay, now 
I haue had such a fortunate beginning, He not 
let a sixepennie -purse escape me. By the 
Masse, here comes another. 73 

before I giue thee a pennie. Secret seruice! 
On, good Alexander. [Exit both. 

Flow. This is villa nous lucke. I perceiue 
dishonestie will not thriue: here comes more. 
God forgiue mee, Sir Arthur, and M(aister) 
Oliner: afore God, lie speake to them. 103 

Enter Sir Arthur, and M. Oliuer. 
God saue you, Sir Arthur: God saue you, 
M(aister) Oliuer. 

Oli. Byn you there, zyrrha? come, will you 
ytaken your selfe to your tooles, Coystrell? 

Flow. Nay, M(aister) Oliuer, lie not fight 

with you. 

Alas, sir, you know it was not my dooings, 
It was onely a plot to get Sir Lancelots 
daughter: no 

By God, I neuer meant you harme. 

Oh'. And whore is the Gentle -woman thy 
wife, Mezell? Whore is shee, Zyrrha, ha? 

Flow. By my troth, M(aister) Oliuer, sicke, 
very sicke; and God is my ludge, I know not 
what meanes to make for her, good Gentle 
woman. 117 

Oli. Tell me true, is she sicke? tell me true, 
itch vise thee. 

Flow. Yes, faith, I tell you true: M(aister/ 
Oliuer, if you would doe mee the small kind- 
nesse, but to lend me fortie shillings: so God 
helpe me, I will pay you so soone as my 
abilitie shall make me able, as I am a gentle 
man. 1 25 

Oli. Well, thou zaist thy wife is zicke: 
hold, thers vortie shillings; giue it to thy wife. 
Looke thon giue it her, or I shall zo veze thee, 
thou wert not so vezed this zeuen yeare; 

Enter a Citizens wife with a torch before 


God blesse you, faire Mistresse. Now would 
it please you, gentlewoman, to looke into the 
wants of a poore Gentle -man, a yonger 
brother, I doubt not but God will treble restore 
it backe againe: one that neuer before this 
time demanded pennie, halfpenie, nor farthing. 

Citiz. Wife. Stay, Alexander. Now, by I looke too it. 1 3 

my troth, a very proper man, and tis great \ Art. Yfaith, Master'/ Oliuer, it is in vaine 
pittie: hold, my friend, theres all the monie 
I haue about me, a couple of shillings, and 
God blesse thee. 84 

Flow. Now God thanke you, sweete Lady: 
if you haue any friend, or Garden-house, where 
you may imploy a poore gentleman as your 
friend, I am yours to command in all secret 
seruice. 8 9 

Citiz. I thanke you, good friend. I prethy 

let me see that againe I gaue thee: there is 
one of them a brasse shilling; giue me them, 

58 some sucli /: (d.: so much 
00 Emk charges ty, Ff OS end 31 

53 thee] me S 
Q. Ff : sonic R 
O'J end 31 

To giue to him that neuer thinkes of her. 

Oli. Well, would che could yuind it. 

Flow. I tell you true, sir Arthur, as I am a 
gentleman. 1 35 

Oli. Well fare you well, zyrrah: come, sir 
Arthur. [Exit both. 

Flow. By the Lord, this is excellent. 
Fiue golden Angels compast in an houre! 
If this trade hold, ile neuer seeke a new. 1 40 


Welcome, sweet gold: and beggery, adue. 

Enter Vncfde and Father. 
Vnc. See, Kesler, if you can find the house. 

1^7 giued Q 130 farewell Ff, c/c. 


ACT V, Sc. I. 

Flow. Whose here? my Vnckle, and my 
man Kestert By the masse, tis they. How doe 
you, Vnckle, how dost thou, Kesterl By my 
troath, Vnckle, you must needes lend me 
some mony: the poore gentlewoman my wife, 
so God helpe me, is verie sicke. I was robde 
of the hundred angels you gaue me; they are 
gone. 15 

Vnc. I, they are gone indeed; come, Kester, 

Flow. Nay, Vnckle, do you heare? good 

Vnc. Out, hypocrite, I will not heare thee 
speake; 155 

Come, leaue him, Kester. 

Flow. Kester, honest Kestef. 

Path. Syr, I haue nought to say to you. 
Open the doore, Tanikin: thou hadst best 
lockt fast, for theres a false knaue without. 

Flow. You are an old lying Rascall, so you 
are. [Exit both. 

Enter Luce. 

Luce. Vat is de matter? Vat be you, 
yonker? 164 

Flow. By this light, a Dutch Froe: they 
say they are calde kind. By this light, ile try 

Luce. Vat bin you, yonker? why doe you 
not speake? 169 

Flow. By my troath, sweet heart, a poore 
gentleman that would desire of you, if it 
stand with your liking, the bountie of your 
purse. 173 

Enter father. 

Luce. here, God, so young an armine. 

Flow. Armine, sweet -heart? I know not 
what you meane by that, but I am almost a 

Luce. Are you not a married man? vere bin 
your vife? Here is all I haue: take dis. 179 

Flow. What, gold, young Froe? this is 

Path. If he haue any grace, heele now 

Luce. Why speake you not? were be your 
vifc? 185 

Flow. Dead, dead, shees dead; tis she hath 
vndone me: spent me all I had, and kept ras- 
calls vnder mine nose to braue me. 

Luce. Did you vse her veil? 189 

Flow. Vse her? theres neuer a gentle 
woman in England could be better vsed then 
I did her. I could but Coatch her; her diet 

l-M-50, 158-62 Ytrxc Q, Ff 159 Tauikiu }: (d.: to 
my kin (J, Ff \ to me, 'Kin J/ 

stood me in fortie pound a moneth, but shee 
is dead and in her graue my cares are buried. 

Luce. Indeed, dat vas not scone. 1 95 

Path. He is turned more diuell then he 
was before. 

Flow. Thou doest belong to maister duet 
here, doest thou not? 

Luce. Yes me doe. 200 

Flow. Why, theres it: theres not a hand- 
full of plate but belongs to me, Gods my ludge: 
if I had but such a wench as thou art, theres 
neuer a man in England would make more of 
her, then I would doe, so she had any stocke. 
They call within: 0, why, Tanikin. 206 

Luce. Stay, one doth call; I shall come by 
and by againe. 

Flow. By this hand, this Dutch wench is in 
loue with me. Were it not admirall to make 
her steale all duets Plate, and runne away. 

Path. Twere beastly. maister Flower - 
dale, 212 

Haue you no feare of God, nor conscience? 
What doe you meane by this vilde course you 

Flow. What doe I meane? why, to liue, 
that I meane. 216 

Path. To liue in this sort? fie vpon the 

Your life doth show, you are a verie coward. 

Flow. A coward? I pray, in what? 

Path. Why, you will borrow sixpence of a 
boy. 221 

Flow. Snailes, is there such cowardice in 
that? I dare borrow it of a man, I, and of the 
tallest man in England, if he will lend it me. 
Let me borroweit how I can, and let them come 
by it how they dare. And it is well knowne, 
I might a rid out a hundred times if I would: 
so I might. 

Path. It was not want of will, but 


There is none that lends to you, but know they 
gaine: 230 

And what is that but onely stealth in you? 
Delia might hang you now, did not her 


Take pittie of you for her sisters sake. 
Goe, get you hence, least, lingering where 
you stay, 234 

You fall into their hands you looke not for. 

Flow. lie tarie here, till the Dutch Froe 
comes, if all the diuels in hell were here. 

[Exit Father. 

195 shoen Hug. 201-5 Verse Q, Ff 203 but oni. 
Ff, etc. 210 admirable K, etc. 209-11, 220-8 

Very Q, Ff 226 kowne 
your stay M 

Q, Ff, etc. 

234 where pr. til: here 


ACT V, Sc. I. 


Enter syr Lancelot, maister Weathercocke, 
and Artichoake. 

Lance. Where is the doore? are we not past 
it, Artichoake''. f 39 

Arty. Bith masse, heres one; ile aske him. 
Doe you heare, sir? What, are you so proud? 
doe you heare? which is the way to maister 
duets house? what will you not speake? 
me, this is niching Flower dale. 

Lance. wonderfull, is this leaude villaine 

here? 245 

you cheating Roague, you cut -purse coni- 

What ditch, you villaine, is my daughters 


A cozening rascall, that must make a will, 
Take on him that strict habit very that, 249 
When he should turneto angell a dying grace. 
Ile father in la we you, syr, ile make a will! 
Speake, villaine, wheres my daughter? 
Poysoned, I warrant you, or knocked a the head 
And to abuse good maister Weathercocke, 
With his fordged will, and maister Weather 
cocke 255 
To make my grounded resolution, 
Then to abuse the Deuenshyre gentleman: 
Goe, away with him to prison. 

Flow. Wherefore to prison? syr, I will not 
goe. 260 

Enter maister duet, his wife, Oliuer, syr 
Arthur, Father, and Vnckle, Delia. 

Lance. heeres his Vnckle! welcome, gen 
tlemen, welcome all. Such a cozoner, gentle 
men, a murderer too, for any thing I know: 
my daughter is missing: hath bin looked for, 
cannot be found. A vild vponl,hee. 265 

Vnc. He is my kinsman, altho his life be 


Therefore, in Gods name, doe with him what 
you will. 

Lance. Marrie, to prison. 

Flow. Wherefore to prison? snick vp, I 
owe you nothing. 270 

Lance. Bring forth my daughter then: 
away with him. 

Flow. Goe seeke your daughter; what doe 
you lay to my charge. 

Lance. Suspition of murder: goe, away with 
him. 276 

Flow. Murder, you dogs? I murder your 

238 Prefix Luce Q 240 Bith] By th' Ff 245 
Icwde Ff 249 a strict habit, feigning that Haz. 

256 make] shake conj. M 257 gentlemen Q, Fl 

261 Prefix Luce Q 261-5 Verse 277 you dogs 
in: ed. : your dogs Q, etc. 

Come, Vnckle, I know youle baile me. 

Vnc. Not I, were there no more, then I the 
lay lor, thou the prisoner. 280 

Lance. Goe; away with him. 

Enter Luce like a Fro we. 

Luce. my life, here; where will you ha 

de man? 
Vat ha de younker done? 

Wea. Woman, he hath kild his wife. 

Luce. His vife: dat is not good, dat is not 
seene. 286 

Lance. Hang not vpon him, huswife; if you 
doe, ile lay you by him. 

Luce. Haue me no oder way dan you haue 

He tell me dat he loue me hartily. 290 

Fran. Lead away my maide to prison! 
why, Tom, will you suffer that? 

Ciu. No, by your leaue, father, she is no 
vagrant: she is my wiues chamber maid, & 
as true as the skin between any mans browes 
here. 296 

Lance. Goe too, you're both fooles: 
Sonne duet, of my life, this is a plot, 
Some stragling counterfeit preferd to you, 
No doubt to rob you of your plate and Jewels. 
Ile haue you led away to prison, trull. 301 

Luce. I am no trull, neither outlandish 


Nor he, nor I shall to the prison goe: 
Know you me now? nay, neuer stand amazed. 
Father, I know I haue offended you, 305 
And tho that dutie wills me bend my knees 
To you in dutie and obedience: 
Yet this wayes doe I turne, and to him 

My loue, my dutie and my humblenesse. 

Lane. Bastard in nature! kneele to such a 
slaue? 310 

Luce. M(aister) Flower dale, if too much 


Haue not stopt vp the orgens of your voyce, 
Then speake to her that is thy faithfull wife: 
Or doth contempt of me thus tye thy tongue? 
Turne not away, I am no -flSthyope, 315 

No wanton Cressed, nor a changing Hellen: 
But rather one made wretched by thy losse. 
What, turnst thou still from me? then 
I gesse thee wofulst among haplesse men. 

Flow. I am, indeed, wife, wonder among 
wiues! 320 

Thy chastitie and vertue hath infused 
Another soule in mee, red with defame, 

282 here out. Ff: hear M 286 shocn Ilttz. 289 
oder . . dan M : and or . . doe (j, Ff leave him R 
297 Ends Ciuet Q, Ff 308 way ,V 



AcrV.'Sc. I. 

For in my blushing eheekes is scene my 

Lane. Out, Hypocrite, 
him not. 

I charge thee, trust 

Luce. Not trust him? by (the) hopes (of) 
after blisse, 325 

I know no sorrow can be compar'd to his. 

Lan. Well, since thou weart ordain'd to 

Follow thy fortune; I defie thee, I. 

Oly. Ywood che were so well ydoussed as 
was euer white cloth in a tocking mill, and 
che ha not made me weepe. 33* 

Path. If he hath any grace, heele now 

Art. It moues my heart. 

Wea. By my troth, I must weepe, I can not 
chaise. 335 

Vncle. None but a beast would such a 
maide misuse. 

Flow. Content thy selfe, I hope to win his 


And to redeeme my reputation lost: 
And, Gentlemen, beleeue me, I beseech you: 
I hope your eyes shall behold such change, 
As shall deceiue your expectation. 341 

Oly. I would che were ysplit now, but che 
beleeue him. 

Lance. How, beleeue him? 

Wea. By the mackins, I doe. 345 

Lance. What, doe you thinke that ere he 
will haue grace? 

Wea. By my faith, it will goe hard. 

OZy. Well, che vor ye, he is changed: and 
M(aister) Flowerdale, in hope you been so, 
hold, theres vortie pound toward your zetting 
vp: what, bee not ashamed; vang it, man, 
vang it: bee a good husband, louen your wife: 
and you shall not want for vortie more, I 
che vor thee. 355 

Arth. My meanes are little, but if youle 

follow me, 

I will instruct you in my ablest power: 
But to your wife I giue this Diamond, 
And proue true Dimond faire in all your life. 

I hope your vader and your vncle here wil 
vbllow my zamples. 37 

Vncle. You haue gest right of me; if he 
leaue of this course of life, he shall be mine 

Lan. But he shall neuer get a groat of me: 
A Cozoner, a deceiuer, one that kild 375 

His painefull father, honest Gentleman 
That passed the fearefull danger of the sea, 
To get him lining and maintaine him braue. 

Wea. What, hath he kild his father? 

Lance. I, sir, with conceit of his vild 
courses. 380 

Path. Sir, you are misinformed. 

Lane. Why, thou old knaue, thou toldst 
me so thy selfe. 

Fa. I wrong'd him then: and toward my 

Masters', stock, 
Thers 20 Nobles for to make amends. 

Flo. No, Kester, I haue troubled thee, and 
wrong'd thee more. 385 

What thou in loue giues, I in loue restore. 

Fra. Ha, ha, sister, there you playd bo- 
peepe with Tom. What shall I giue her 
toward houshold? Sister Delia, shall I giue her 
my Fanne? 390 

Del. You were best aske your husband. 

Fran. Shal I, Tom? 

duet. I, do, Franck; ile by thee a new one, 
with a longer handle. 

Franck. A russet one, Tom. 395 

iuit. I, with russet feathers. 

Fran. Here, sister, theres my Fanne to 
ward houshold, to kecpe you warme. 

Luce. I thanke you, sister. 399 

Wea. Why this is well, and toward faire 
Luces stocke, heres fortie shillings: and fortie 
good shillings more, He giue her, marrie. 
Come, sir Lancelot, I must haue you friends. 

Lance. Not I, all this is counterfeit; 
He will consume it, were it a Million. 405 

Fath. Sir, what is your daughters dower 

Lance. Had she been married to an honest 

Flow. Thankes, good sir Arthur, M(aister) j It had beene better then a thousand pound. 
Oliuer, 360 | Fath. Pay it him, and ile giue you my 

You being my eneinie, and growne so kind, 
Bindes mee in all indeuour to restore 

OZy. What! restore me no restorings, man. 
I haue vortie pound more for Luce; here, 
vang it: Zouth, chil devie London els. What, 

do not thinke me a Mezel or a Scondrell to Will passe there for as much as yours, 
throw away my money: che haue a hundred 
pound more to pace of any good spotation: 

bond, 49 

To make her ioynter better worth then three. 
Lance. Your bond, sir? why, what are you? 
Fath. One whose word in London, tho I 
say it, 

325 the add. Ff of tnW. 1! 
35'j loiicn to your Ff. </'. 

369 vadcr Percy : vndcr Q, Ff 385 wrong Q 

387-90 Verge Q : eon: M 3P5 Tom] Franckc Q 

331 che] chea Q 400-3 Vcive 31 : die. after stock, more, Lancelot 409 
him] to him M 


ACT V, Sc. I. 


Lane. Weart not thou late that vnthrifts 


Path. Looke on me better, now my scarre 
is off. 4iS 

Nere muse, man, at this metamorphosie. 
Lance. M(aister) Flowerdalel 
Flow. My father! 0, I shame to looke on 


Pardon, deare father, the follyes that are past. 

Fa. Sonne, sonne, I doe, and ioy at this 

thy change, 4 20 

And applaud thy fortune in this vertuous 

Whom heauen hath sent to thee to saue thy 

Luc. This addeth ioy to ioy, hie heauen be 


Wea. M(aister) Flowerdalel 

Welcome from death, good M(aister) Flower - 

dale. 425 

Twas sed so here, twas sed so here, good faith. 

Path. I caused that rumour to be spred 

my selfe, 

Because ide see the humours of my sonne, 
Which to relate the circumstance is needlesse: 
And, sirra, see you runne no more into 43 
That same disease: 

For he thats once cured of that maladie, 
Of Ryot, Swearing, Drunkennes, and Pride, 
And falles againe into the like distresse, 
That feuor is deadly, doth till death indure: 
Such men die mad as of a callenture. 436 
Flow. Heauen helping me, ile hate the 

course as hell. 

Vnc. Say it and do it, Cozen, all is well. 
Lane. Wei, being in hope youle proue an 

honest man, 

I take you to my fauour. Brother Flower- 
dale, 440 
Welcome with all my heart: I see your care 
Hath brought these acts to this conclusion, 

424-5 One line Q, etc. 430-1 One line Q, Ff : dh: 
after see M 440 fauour brother Q : corr. Ff 

And I am glad of it: come, lets in and feast. 

Oly. Nay, zoft you awhile: you promised 
to make Sir Arthur and me amends. Here is 
your wisest daughter; see which ans sheele 
haue. 447 

Lane. A Gods name, you haue my good 
will, get hers. 

OZy. How say you then, Damsell, tyters hate? 

Delia. I, sir, am yours. 450 

OZy. Why, then, send for a Vicar, and chil 
haue it dispatched in a trice, so chill. 

Delia. Pardon me, sir, I meane I am yours, 
In loue, in dutie, and affection, 
But not to loue as wife: shall neere be said, 
Delya was buried married, but a mayd. 456 

Arth. Doe not condemne your selfe for euer, 
Vertuous faire, you were borne to loue. 

OZy. Why, you say true, sir Arthur, she 
was ybere to it so well as her mother: but 
I pray you shew vs some zamples or reasons 
why you will not marry? 462 

Deli. Not that I doe condemne a married 


For tis no doubt a sanctimonious thing: 
But for the care and crosses of a wife, 465 
The trouble in this world that children bring; 
My vow is in heauen in earth to liue alone, 
Husbands, howsoeuer good, I will haue none. 

OZy. Why, then che will liue Batcheller too. 
Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not 
a vig by me. Come, shalls go to dinner? 471 

Fa. To morrow I craue your companies in 

To night weele frolike in M(aister) Ciuites 

And to each health drinke downe a full 

444-7 Verse Q, Ff 
tyters hate om. R, etc. 


446 ans] on us M 
453 I] that I M 

455 it 

shall X 457-8 Prone M 459-62 Verse 0, Ff 

460 ybore Ff, etc. 467 on earth M 469-71 Vent 
0. Ff 469 che will M chil will : chill Ff a 

Batchelor Ff, etc. 






of Watling-ftreete. 

the Children of T auks. 

Written by W. S. 

Imprinted at London by 
I 07. 

Q = Quarto of 1607 

F 1 = (Third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664 

F2 = (Fourth) 1685 

R = Rowe, 1709 

Pope = Supplement to Pope's Shakespeare, 1728 

M = Malone, 1780 

St. = Steevens, ibid. 

Th. = Theobald, ibid. 

S = Simms, 1848 

T = Tyrrell, 1851 

Haz. = Hazlitt, 1852 

pr. ed. - present editor 




In the Play Intituled 

The Scene London. 
Lady Plus, a Citizens Widow. 

her t 

Sir Godfrey, Brother -in-Law to the Widow 


Master Edmond, Son to the Widow Plus. 
George Pye-boord, a Schollar and a Citizen. 
Peter Skirmish, an old Soldier. 


(SCENE I. A Garden behind the widow's house.} 
Enter the Lady Widdow-Plus, her two Daugh 

ters Franke and Moll, her husbands Brother 

an old Knight Sir Godfrey, with her So/me 

and heyre Maister Edmond, alZ in moorning 

apparell, Edmond in a Cypresse Hatte. 

The Widdow wringing her hands, and burst 

ing out into passion, as newly come from 

the Buriall of her husband. 

Widow. Oh, that euer I was borne, that 
euer I was borne I 

Sir Godfrey. Nay, good Sister, deare sister, 
sweete sister, bee of good comfort; shew your 
selfe a woman, now or neuer. 5 

Wid. Oh, I haue lost the deerest man, I 
haue buried the sweetest husband that euer 
lay by woman. 

Sir God. Nay, giue him his due, hee was 
indeed an honest, vertuous, discreet, wise man, 
hee was my Brother, as right as right. 1 1 

Wid. 0, I shall neuer forget him, neuer 
forget him; hee was a man so well giuen to 
a woman oh! 14 

Sir God/. Nay, but, kinde Sister, I could 
weepe as much as any woman, but, alas, our 
teares cannot call him againe: me thinkes you 
are well read, Sister, and know that death is 
as common as Homo, a common name to all 
men: a man shall bee taken when hee's 
making water. Nay, did not the learned 
Parson, Maister Pigman, tell vs een now, that 
all Flesh is fraile, wee are borne to dye, Man 
ha's but a time: with such like deepe and pro- 

Captain Idle, a Highway-man. 
Corporall Oath, a vain-glorious Fellow. 

1 Drum. Pcrs. ndtl. Fl 
wise-man Q 

Scene I. etc. add. M 

Sir Oliver Muck-hill, a Suiter to the Lady Plus. 
Sir John Penny -Dub, a Suiter to Moll. 
Sir Andrew Tipstaffe, a Suiter to Frances. 
The Sheriffs of London. 

Ravenshaw \ Two f the Sheri ff s Serjeants. 

Dogson, a Yeoman. 

A Noble-man. 

A Gentleman Citizen. 

Officers.} ! 

I found perswasions, as hee is a rare fellow, you 
know, and an excellent Reader: and for 
example, (as there are examples aboundance,) 
did not Sir Humfrey Bubble dye tother day? 
There's a lustie Widdow; why, shee cryed not 
aboue halfe an houre for shame, for shame I 
then followed him old Maister Fulsome, the 
Vsurer: there's a wise Widdow; why, shee 
cryed nere a whitte at all. 33 

Wid. 0, rancke not rcee with those wicked 

i women: I had a Husband out-shinde 'em all. 
Syr God/. I, that he did,Ifaith: he out-shind 

; 'em all. 37 

Widd. Boost thou stand there and see vs all 

weepe, and not once shed a teare for thy fathers 

death? oh, thou vngratious sonne and heyre, 

; thou! 41 

Edm. Troth, Mother, I should not weepe, 

I'me sure; I am past a childe, I hope, to make 

all my old Schoole fellowes laughe at me; I 

should bee mockt, so I should. Pray, let ore 

of my Sisters weepe for mee. lie laughe ES 

much for her another time. A 7 

Widd. Oh, thou past-Grace, thou! out cf 

my sight, thou gracelesse impe, thou grieuest 

mee more then the death of thy Father! oh, 

, thou stubborne onely sonne! hadst thou such 
an honest man to thy Father that would 
deceaue all the world to get riches for thee 
and canst thou not afforde a little salt water? 
he that so wisely did quite ouer -throw the 
right heyre of those lands, which now you 
respect not: vp euery morning betwixt foure 
and fiue; so duely at Westminster Hall euery 
Tearme-Time, with all his Gardes and writings, 
for thee, thou wicked Absolon oh, deare hus 
band! 6 1 

59 Cardes] charts conj. M 


ACT I, Sc. I. 


Edm. Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad 
hee's Churched; for now hee's gone, I shall 
spend in quiet. 

Fran. Deere mother, pray cease; halfe 

your Teares suffize. 6 5 

Tis time for you to take truce with youre 

Let me weepe now. 

Widd. Oh, such a deere knight! such a 
sweete husband haue I lost, haue I lost! If 
Blessed bee the coarso the raine raynes vpon, 
he had it po wring downe. 7 1 

Syr God/. Sister, be of good cheere, wee 
are all mortall our selues. I come vppon you 
freshly. I neare speake without comfort, 
heere me what I shall say: my brother ha's 
left you wellthy, y'are rich. 7 6 

Widd. Oh! 

Syr God/. I say y'ar rich: you are also faire. 

Widd. Oh! 79 

Sir God/. Goe too, y'are faire, you cannot 
smother it; beauty will come to light; nor are 
your yeares so farre enter'd with you, but that 
you will bee sought after, and may very well 
answere another husband; the world is full of 
fine Gallants, choyse enow, Sister, for what 
should wee doe with all our Knights, I pray, 
but to marry riche widdowes, wealthy Cittizens 
widdowes, lusty faire -browd Ladies? go too, 
bee of good comfort, I say: leaue snobbing and 
weeping Yet my Brother was a kinde hearted 
man I would not haue the Elfe see mee now! 
Come, pluck vp a womans heart here 
stands your Daughters, who be well estated, 
andat maturity will also beeenquir'd after with 
good husbands, so all these teares shall bee 
soone dryed vp and a better world then euer 
What, Woman? you must not weepe still; hee's 
dead, hee's buried yet I cannot chuse but 
weepe for him! 

Wid. Marry againe! no! let me be buried 

quick then! 100 

And that same part of Quire whereon I tread 

To such intent, may it be my graue; 

And that the Priest may turne his wedding 


E'en with a breath, to funerall dust and ashes! 
Oh, out of a million of millions, I should nere 
finde such a husband; hee was vnmatchable, 
vnmatchable! nothing was to hot, nor to deere 
for mee, I could not speake of that one thing, 
that I had not: beside I had keyes of all, kept 
all, receiu'd all, had money in my purse, spent 
what I would, went abroad when I would, came 
home when I would, and did all what I would. 

75 has Ff, etc. 101 o' the choir M 107 too hot 
M : so hot Q, Ff : too good conj. S 

Oh, my sweete husband! I shall neuer haue the 
like. 1 1 4 

Sir God/. Sister, nere say so; hee was an 
honest brother of mine, and so, and you may 
light vpon one as honest againe, or one as 
honest againe may light vpon you: that's the 
properer phrase, indeed. 119 

Wid. Neuer! oh, if you loue me, vrge it not. 


Oh may I be the by -word of the world, 
The common talke at Table in the mouth 
Of euery Groome and Wayter, if e're more 
I enter tain e the carnall suite of Man! 124 

Mol. I must kneele downe for fashion too. 

Franck. And I, whom neuer man as yet 

hath scalde, 

Ee'n in this depth of generall sorrow, vowe 
Neuer to marry, to sustaine such losse 128 
As a deere husband seemes to be, once dead. 

Mol. I lou'd my father well, too; but to say, 
Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death 
Sure, I should speake false Lattin, should I not? 
Ide as soone vow neuer to come in Bed. 133 
Tut! Women must Hue by th' quick, and not 
by th' dead. 

Wid. Deare Copie of my husband, oh let me 

kisse thee. 1 35 

How like him is this Model! this brief e Picture 

[Drawing out her husbands Picture. 

Quickens my teares: my sorrowes are renew'd 

At this fresh sight. 

Sir God/. Sister 

Wid. Away, 1 40 

All honesty with him is turn'd to clay. 
Oh my sweete husband, oh 

Franck. My deere father! 

[Exeunt mother and daughters. 

Mol. Heres a puling, indeede! I thinke my 
Mother weepes for all the women that euer 
buried husbands; for if from time to time all 
the Widdowers teares in England had beene 
bottled vp, I do not thinke all would haue fild 
a three -halfe -penny Bottle. Alasse, a small 
matter bucks a hand-kercher, and som- 
times the spittle stands to nie Saint Thomas a 
Watrings. Well, I can mourne in good sober 
sort as well as another; but where I spend one 
teare for a dead Father, I could giue twenty 
kisses for a quick husband. [Exit Moll. 155 

Sir God/. Well, go thy waies, old Sir God 
frey, and thou maist be proud on't, thou hast 
a kinde louing sister -in -lawe; how constant! 
how passionate! how full of Aprill the poore 

S. D. Kneels add. R after 124 131 vow . . his Ff, 
elr. : now . . her 136 this . . this M : their . . their 
Q, Ff 138 this M : their Q, Ff 147 widows' 
conj. St. 



ACT I, Sc. II. 

soules eyes are! Well, I would my Brother 
knew on't, he should then know what a kinde 
wife hee had left behindehim: truth, and twere 
not for shame that the Neighbours at th' next 
garden should heare me, betweene ioye and 
griefe I should e'en cry out-right! 165 

[Exit Sir Godfrey. 

Edmond. So, a faire riddance! My fathers 
layde in dust; his Coffin and he is like a whole - 
meate-pye, and the wormes will cut him vp 
shortlie. Farewell, old Dad, farewell. lie be 
curb'd in no more. I perceiue a sonne and 
heire may quickly be made a foole, and he will 
be one, but Be take another order. Now she 
would haue me weepe for him, for -sooth, and 
why? because he cozn'd the right heire, beeing 
a foole, and bestow'd those Lands vpon me his 
eldest Son; and therefore I must weepe for 
him, ha, ha. Why, al the world knowes, as 
long as twas his pleasure to get me, twas his 
duety to get for me: I know the law in that 
point; no Atturney can gull me. Well, my 
Vncle is an olde Asse, and an Admirable 
Cockscombe. He rule the Roast my selfe. lie 
be kept vnder no more; I know what I may do 
well inough by my Fathers Copy: the Lawe's 
in mine owne hands now: nay, now I know my 
strength, He be strong inough for my Mother, 
I warrant you. [Exit. 187 

(SCENE H. A street.} 

Enter George Py-bord, a scholler and a Citti- 
zen, and vnto him an old souldier, Peter 

Pye. What's to be done now, old Lad of 
War? thou that wert wont to be as hot as 
a turn -spit, as nimble as a fencer, & as lowzy 
as a schoole-maister; now thou art put to 
silence like a Sectarie. War sitts now like 
a lustice of peace, and does nothing. Where 
be your Muskets, Caleiuers and Hotshots? in 
Long-lane, at Pawne, at Pawne. Now keies 
are your onely Guns, Key -guns, Key -guns, & 
Bawdes the Gunners, who are your centinells 
in peace, and stand ready charg'd to giue 
warning, with hems, hums, & pockey-coffs; 
only your Chambers are licenc'st to play vpon 
you, and Drabs enow to giue fire to 'em. 14 

Skir. Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it 
goes wrong with me, for since the cessure of 
the wars, I haue spent aboue a hundred 
crownes out a purse. I haue beene a souldier 
any time this forty yeares, and now I perceiue 
an olde souldier and an olde Courtier haue both 

164 betwixt Ff 
purse F2 

Scene II. etc. add. M 18 of 

one destinie, and in the end turne both into 

Pie. Piety mistery for a begger, for indeed 
a hob-naile is the true embleme of a beggers 
shoo-soale. 25 

Skir. I will not say but that warre is a 
bloud-sucker, and so; but, in my conscience, 
(as there is no souldier but has a peice of one, 
tho it bee full of holes like a shot Antient; no 
matter, twill serue to sweare by) in my con 
science, I thinke some kinde of Peace has 
more hidden oppressions, and violent heady 
sinnes, (tho looking of a gentle nature) then 
a protest warre. 3 4 

Pye. Troth, and for mine owne part, I am 
a poore Gentleman, & a Scholler: I haue beene 
matriculated in the Vniuersitie, wore out sixe 
Gownes there, seene some fooles, and some 
Schollers, some of the Citty, and some of the 
Countrie, kept order, went bare-headed ouer 
the Quadrangle, eate my Commons with a good 
stomacke, and Battled with Discretion; at 
last, hauing done many slights and trickes to 
maintaine my witte in vse (as my braine would 
neuer endure mee to bee idle,) I was expeld the 
Vniuersitie, onely for stealing a Cheese out 
of Jesus Colledge. 

Skir. 1st possible? 48 

Pye. Oh! there was one Welshman (God 
forgiue him) pursued it hard; and neuer left, till 
I turnde my staff e toward London, where when 
I came, all my friends were pitt-hold, gone to 
Graues, (as indeed there was but a few left 
before.) Then was I turnde to my wittes, to 
shift in the world, to towre among Sonnes and 
Heyres, and Fooles, and Gulls, and Ladyes 
eldest Sonnes, to worke vpon nothing, to f eede 
out of Flint, and euer since has iny belly beene 
much beholding to my braine. But, now, to 
returne to you, old Skirmish: I say as you say, 
and for my part wish a Turbulency in the 
world, for I haue nothing to loose but my 
wittes, and I thinke they are as mad as they 
will be: and to strengthen your Argument the 
more, I say an honest warre is better then 
a bawdy peace, as touching my profession. 
The multiplicitie of Schollers, hatcht and 
nourisht in the idle Calmes of peace, makes 
'em like Fishes one deuoure another; and the 
communitie of Learning has so plaide vpon 
affections, and thereby almost Religion is 
come about to Phantasie, and discredited by 
being too much spoken off in so many & 
meane mouths, I my selfe, being a Scholler 
and a Graduate, haue no other comfort by 

31 lia's Q 62 nothing in the world but Ff 70 
lia's <j 71 that thereby M 


ACT I, Sc. II. 


my learning, but the Affection of my words, to i by this time is dropt out of her Eyes: deuice 
know how Scholler -like to name what I want, well managde may doe good vppon her: it 
& can call my selfe a Begger both in Greeke : stands firme, my first practise shall bee there, 
and Lattin: and therfore, not to cogg with I Skir. You haue my voyce, George. 132 
Peace, He not be afraide to say, 'tis a great , Pye-boord. Sh'as a gray Gull to her Brother, 
Breeder, but a barren Nourisher: a great getter a foole to her onely sonne, and an Ape to her 
of Children, which must either be Theeues or yongest Daughter. I ouerheard 'em seuerally, 
Rich -men, Knaues or Beggers. 83 and from their words lie deriue my deuice; 

Skirmish. Well, would I had beene borne and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shall be my 
a Knaue then, when I was borne a Begger; for second in all slights. 

if the truth were knowne, I thinke I was begot | Skir. Nere doubt mee, George Pye-boord, 
when my Father had neuer a penny in his ! onely you must teach me to coniure. 1 40 



Pye. Puh, faint not, old Skirmish; let this 
warrant thee, Facilis Descensus Auerni, 'tis 
an easie iourney to a Knaue; thou raaist bee 
a Knaue when thou wilt; and Peace is a good 

Madam to all other professions, and an arrant now? what's hee? 

Enter Captaine Idle, pinioned, & with 
a guarde of Officers passeth oner 

the Stage. 
Pye. Puh, He perfect thee, Peter. How 

Drabbe to vs, let vs handle her accordingly, 
and by our wittes thriue in despight of her; 
for since the lawe Hues by quarrells, the 
Courtier by smooth God-morrowes; and euery 
profession makes it selfe greater by imperfec- 


Skir. Oh Georgel this sight kils me. 

my sworne Brother, Captaine Idle. 

Pye. Captaine Idle.' 1 45 

Skir. Apprehended for some fellonious act 

or other. Hee has started out, h'as made a 

tions, why not wee then by shiftes, wiles, and i Night on't, lackt siluer. I cannot but commend 
forgeries? and seeing our braines are our onely j his resolution; he would not pawne his Buffe- 
Patrimonies, let's spend with iudgment, not : lerkin. I would eyther some of vs were 
like a desperate sonne and heire, but like | employde, or might pitch our Tents at Vsurers 
a sober and discreete Templer, one that will : doores, to kill the slaues as they peepe out at 

neuer marche beyond the bounds of his 
allowance. And for our thriuing meanes, 
thus: I my selfe will put on the Deceit of a 
Fortune-teller. 107 

Skirm. A Fortune-teller? Very proper. 

Pye. And you of a figure -caster, or a Con- 

Skir. A Coniurer? 1 1 1 

Pye. Let me alone; He instruct you, and 
teach you to deceiue all eyes, but the Diuels. 

Skir. Oh I, for I would not deceiue him, and 
I could choose, of all others. 115 

Pye. Feare not, I warrant you; and so by 

the Wicket. 153 

Pye. Indeed, those are our ancient Emmies ; 
they keepe our moneyin their hands, and make 
vs to bee hangd for robbing of 'em. But, come, 
letts follow after to the Prison, and know the 
Nature of his offence; and what we can steed 
him in, hee shall be sure of; and lie vphold it 
still, that a charitable Knaue is better then 
a soothing Puritaine. [Exeunt. 161 

(SCENE m. A street.} 
Enter at one doore Corporall Oth, a Vaine- 

those meanes wee shall helpe one another to 
Patients, as the condition of the age affoords 
creatures enow for cunning to worke vpon. 

Skir. Oh wondrous! new fooles and fresh 
Asses. 121 

Pye. Oh, fit, fit! excellent. 

Skir. What, in the name of Coniuring? 7 r 

Pye-boord. My memorie greetes mee hap- haue met with you'next our hearts; you are 
pily with an admirable subiect to graze vpon: the man that we are forbidden to keepe com- 
The Lady-Widdow, who of late I sawe weeping I pany withall. Wee must not sweare I can tell 
in her Garden for the death of her Husband; you, and you haue the name for swearing. 5 
sure she 'as but a watrish soule, and halfe on't Sim. I, Corporall Oth, I would you would 

glorious fellow; and at the other, three of the 
Widdow Puritaines Seruingmen, Nicholas 
Saint -Tantlings, Simon Saint-Mary-Oueries, 
and Frailtie, in black scuruie mourning 
coates, and Bookes at their Girdles, as cam 
ming from Church. They meete. 
Nich. What, Corporall 0/ft? I am sorry we 

76 Affliction Q 
108 A Fortune-t 

94 us. LetJf 100 the onely Ff 

eller add. to line 107 6, Ff: corr. 
109 of om. Ff, etc. 117 those] these Ff 128 she'asl 

he ' 

she's Ff: she has M on't] oft 31 

do so much as forsake vs, sir; we cannot abide 
you, wee must not be seene in your company. 


136 drive Ff 

Scene III. etc. add. M 


ACT I, Sc. IV. 

Frail. There is none of vs, I can tell you, 
but shall be soundly whipt for swearing. 10 

Corp. Why, how now, we three? Puritanicall 
Scrape -shoes, Flesh a good Friday es! a hand. 

All. Oh! 

Corp. Why, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, 
Simon Saint Mary Queries, ha's the De'ele 
possest you, that you sweare no better? you 
Varlets, do's the first lesson teach you to bee 
proud, and the second to bee Cocks -combes? 
proud Cocks-combes! not once to doe dutie to 
a man of Marke! 21 

Frail. A man of Marke, quatha! I doe not 
thinke he can shew a Beggers Noble. 

Corpo. A Corporall, a Commander, one of 
spirit, that is able to blowe you vp all drye with 
your Bookes at your Girdles. 2 6 

Simon. Wee are not taught to beleeue that, 

pir, for we know the breath of man is weake. 

[Corporall breaths vpon Frailtie. 

Frail. Foh, you lie, Nicholas; for here's one 
strong inough. Blowe vs vp, quatha: hee may 
well blow me aboue twelue -score off an him. 
I warrant, if the winde stood right, a man might 
smell him from the top of Newgate, to the 
Leades of Ludgate. 34 

Corp. Sirrah, thou Hollow-Booke of Waxe- 

Nicho. I, you may say what you will, so 
you sweare not. 

Corp. I sweare by the 39 

Nicho. Hold, hold, good Corporall Oth ; 
for if you sweare once, wee shall all fall downe 
in a sowne presently. 

Corp. I must and will sweare: youquiuering 
Cocks-combes, my Captainc is imprisoned, 
and by Vulcans Lether Cod-piece point 

Nich. O Simon, what an oth was there. 46 

Frail. If hee should chance to breake it, 
the poore mans Breeches would fall downe 
about his heeles, for Venus allowes him but 
one point to his hose. 5 

Corpor. With these my Bullye-Feete I will 
thumpe ope the Prison doores, and braine the 
Keeper with the begging Boxe, but De see my 
honest sweete Captaine Idle at libertie. 

Nich. How, Captaine Ydlel my olde Aunts 
sonne, my deere Kinsman, in Capadochio? 56 

Cor. I, thou Church -peeling, thou Holy- 
paring, religious outside, thou! if thou hadst 
any grace in thee, thou would'st visit him, 
releiue him, sweare to get him out. 60 

Nicho. Assure you, Corporall, indeed -la, 
tis the first time I heard on't. 

25 drye] three M 
-Feete] -Fleet F3 

T. B. 

4-2 swoon FS, etc. 

Cor. Why do't now, then, Marmoset: bring 
forth thy yearly -wages, let not a Commander 
perish! 65 

Simon. But, if hee bee one of the wicked, 
hee shall perish. 

Nich. Well, Corporall, He e'en along with 
you, to visit my Kinsman: if I can do him any 
good, I will, but I haue nothing for him. 
Simon Saint Mary Oueris and Fraylty, pray 
make a lie for me to the Knight my Maister, 
old Sir Godfrey. 

Cor. A lie? may you lie then? 74 

Fray. 0, I, we may lie, but we must not 

Sim. True, wee may lie with our Neigh 
bors wife, but wee must not sweare we did so. 

Cor. Oh, an excellent Tag of religion! 79 

Nic. Oh Simon, I haue thought vpon a 
sound excuse; it will go currant: say that I am 
gon to a Fast. 

Sim. To a Fast? very good. 

Nic. I, to a Fast, say, with Maister Fnl- 
bellie the Minister. 85 

Sim. Maister Ful-belliel an honest man: 
he feedes the flock well, for he's an excellent 
feeder. [Exit Corporal, Nicholas. 

Fray. 0, 1, 1 haue seene him eate vp a whole 

Pigge, and afterward falle to the pettitoes. 90 

[Exit Simon and Fraylty. 


The Prison, Marshalsea. 

Enter Captaine Ydle at one dore, and (later 

Pyeboard and) old souldier at the other. 

George Py-boord, speaking within. 
Pye. Pray turne the key. 
Sker. Turne the key, I pray. 
Cap. Who should those be? I almost know 
their voyces. 4 

O my friends! [Entring. 

Ya're welcome to a smelling Roome here. 
You newly tooke leaue of the ayre; ist not 
a strange sauour? 

Pie. As all prisons haue: smells of sundry 


Who, tho departed, leaue their sents behind 

'em. 10 

By Gold, Captaine, I am sincerely sory for 


Cap. By my troth, George, I thanke thee; 
but pish, what must be, must bee. 

Skir. Captaine, what doe you lie in for? ist 

great? what's your offence? 15 

Cap. Faith, my offence is ordinarie, com- 

75 me must 89 vp om. FP, ttc. 90 falls : 
fall Ff, etc. Scene IV. <W. -V 7 ist] has it M 


ACT I, Sc. IV. 


mon: A Hie-waye; and I feare mee my penal- 
tie will be ordinarie and common too: a halter. 

Pie. Nay, prophecy not so ill; it shall go 

But He shift for thy life. 20 

Cap. Whether I liue or die, thou'art an 
honest George. He tell you siluer flou'd not 
with mee, as it had done, (for now the tide 
runnes to Bawdes and flatterers.) I had a 
start out, and by chaunce set vpon a fat 
steward, thinking his purse had beene as 
pursey as his bodie; and the slaue had about 
him but the poore purchase of tenne groates: 
notwithstanding, beeing descryed, pursued, 
and taken, I know the Law is so grim, in 
respect of many desprate, vnsetled souldiours, 
that I feare mee I shall daunce after their pipe 
for't. 33 

Skir. I am twice sory for you, Captaine: 
first that your purchase was so small, and now 
that your danger is so great. 

Cap. Push, the worst is but death, ha 
you a pipe of Tobacco about you? 38 

Skir. I thinke I haue there abouts about me. 
[Cap. blowes a pipe. 

Cap. Her's a cleane Gentleman too, to 

Pie. Well, I must cast about some happy 


Worke braine, that euer didst thy Maister 

Cor. Keeper! let the key be turn'd! 44 
[Corporall and Nicholas within. 

Nie. I, I pray, Maister keeper, giues a cast 
of your office. 

Cap. How now? more Visitants? what, 
Corporal Othl 

Pie. Skir. Corporal? 49 

Cor. In prison, honest Captaine? this must 
not be. 

Nic. How do you, Captaine Kinsman? 

Cap. Good Cocks-combe! what makes that 
pure, starch'd foole here? 54 

Nic. You see, Kinsman, I am som-what 
bould to call in, and see how you do. I heard 
you were safe inough, and I was very glad on't 
that it was no worse. 

Cap. This is a double torture now, this 
foole by'th booke 59 

Do's vexe me more then my imprisonment. 
What meant you, Corporall, to hooke him 

Cor. Who, he? he shall releiue thee, and 

supply thee; 
He make him doo't. 63 

37 Pish . 59-61 Prose Ff, etc. 60 Do's] doth 
Ff, etc. 

Cap. (aside, to Oath) Fie, what vaine breath 
you spend! hee supply? He sooner expect 
mercy from a Vsurer when my bonds f orf etted, 
sooner kindnesse from a Lawier when my 
mony's spent: nay, sooner charity from the 
deuill, then good from a Puritaine! He looke 
for releife from him, when Lucifer is restor'd 
to his bloud, and in Heauen againe! 71 

Nic. I warrant, my Kinsman's talking of 
me, for my left eare burnes most tyrannically. 

Pie. Captaine Ydle, what's he there? hee 
lookes like a Monkey vpward, and a Crane 
downe-ward. 76 

Cap. Pshaw, a foolish Cozen of mine; I 
must thanke God for him. 

Pie. Why, the better subiect to worke a 
scape vpon; thou shalt e'en change clothes 
with him, and leaue him here, and so 81 

Cap. Push, I publish't him e'en now to my 
Corporall: hee will be damn'd, ere hee do me 
so much good; why, I know a more proper, 
a more handsome deuice then that, if the 
slaue would be sociable. Now, goodman 
Fleer e- /ace? 87 

Nic. Oh, my Cozen begins to speake to me 
now: I shall bee acquainted with him againe, 
I hope. 

Skirmish. Looke what ridiculous Raptures 
take hold of his wrinckles. 92 

Pye. Then, what say you to this deuice? 
a happy one, Captaine? 

Capt. Speake lowe, George; Prison Rattes 
haue wider eares then those in Malt-lofts. 96 

Nic. Cozen, if it lay in my power, as they 
say to do 

Cap. Twould do me an exceeding pleasure, 

indeed, that, but nere talke forder on't: the 

foole will be hang'd, ere he do't. 101 

(To the Corporal.} 

Cor. Pax, lie thump 'im to't. 

Pie. Why, doe but trie the Fopster, and 
breake it to him bluntly. 104 

Cap. And so my disgrace will dwell in his 
lawes, and the slaue slauer out our purpose 
to his Maister, for would I were but as sure 
on't as I am sure he will deny to do't. 

Nic. I would bee heartily glad, Cozen, if 
any of my friendships, as they say, might- 
stand ah 1 1 1 

Pie. Why, you see he offers his friend -ship 
foolishly to you alreadie. 

Captain. I, that's the hell on't, I would hee 
would offer it wisely. 

Nich. Verily, and indeed la, Couzen 1 1 6 

Cap. I haue tooke note of thy fleeres a good 
while: if thou art minded to do mee good as 

100 but om. Ff 101 S. D. add. M 102 'im] 'em Q 



ACT I, Sc. IV. 

thou gapst vpon me comfortably, and giu'st 
me charitable faces, which indeede is but 
a fashion in you all that are Puritaines wilt 
soone at night steale me thy Maisters chaine? 

Nich. Oh, I shall sowne! 

Pie. Corporal, he starts already. 124 

Cap. I know it to be worth three hundred 
Crownes, & with the halfe of that I can buy 
my life at a Brokers, at second hand, which 
now lies in pawne to th' La we : if this thou 
refuse to do, being easie and nothing dan 
gerous, in that thou art held in good opinion 
of thy Maister, why tis a palpable Argument 
thou holdst my life at no price, and these thy 
broken & vnioynted offers are but only created 
in thy lip, now borne, and now buried, foolish 
breath onlie. What, woult do't? shall I looke 
for happinesse in thy answere? 136 

Nic. Steale my Maisters chaine, quo'the? 
no, it shal nere bee sayd, that Nicholas Saint 
Tantlings committed Bird -lime 1 

Cap. Nay, I told you as much; did I not? 
tho he be a Puritaine, yet he will be a true 

Nich. Why, Couzen, you know tis written, 
thou shall not steale. 144 

Cap. Why, and foole, thou shalt loue thy 
Neighbour, and helpe him in extremities. 

Nich. Masse, I think e it bee, indeede: in 
what Chapter's that, Couzen? 

Cap. Why, in the first of Charity, the 2. 
verse. 150 

Nich. The first of Charity, quathal that's 
a good iest; there's no such Chapter in my 

Cap. No, I knew twas torne out of thy 
Booke, & that makes so little in thy heart. 155 

Pie. Come, let me tell you, ya're too 
vnkinde a Kinsman, yfaith; the Captaine lou- 
ing you so deerely, I, like the Pomwater of 
his eye, and you to be so vncomfortable: fie, 
fie. 1 60 

Nic. Pray, do not wish me to bee hangd: 
any thing else that I can do, had it beene to 
rob, I would ha don't; but I must not steale: 
that's the word, the literall, thou shalt not 
steale; and would you wish me to steale, then? 

Pie. No, faith, that were to much, to speake 
truth: why, woult thou nim it from him? 167 

Nich. That I will! 

Pie. Why, ynough, bullie; hee shall bee 
content with that, or he shall ha none; let mee 
alone with him now! Captaine, I ha dealt 
with your Kins -man in a Corner; a good, 
kinde-naturde fellow, mee thinkes: goe too, 
155 makes it so R, etc. 169 shall] 

154 know Ff 
will Ff, etc. 

you shall not haue all your owne asking, you 
shall bate somewhat on't: he is not contented 
absolutely, as you would say, to steale the 
chaine from him, but to do you a pleasure, 
he will nim it from him. 178 

Nich. I, that I will, Couzen. 

Cap. Well, seeing he will doe no more, as 
far as I see, I must bee contented with that. 

Cor. Here's no notable gullery! 182 

Pie. Nay, He come neerer to you, Gentle 
man: because weele haue onely but a helpe 
and a mirth on't, the knight shall not loose 
his chaine neither, but (it shall) be only laide 
out of the way some one or two daies. 

Nich. I, that would be good indeed, 
Kinsman. ' 189 

Pie. For I haue a farder reach to profit vs 
better by the missing on't onelie, then if wee 
had it out-right, as my discourse shall make 
it knowne too you. When thou hast the 
chaine, do but conuay it out at back-dore into 
the Garden, and there hang it close in the 
Rosemary banck but for a small season; and 
by that harmlesse deuise, I know how to 
winde Captaine Ydle out of prison: the Knight 
thy Maister shall get his pardon and release 
him, & he satisfie thy Maister with his own 
chaine, & wondrous thankes on both hands. 

Nich. That were rare indeed, la: pray, let 
me know how. 203 

Pie. Nay, tis very necessary thou shouldst 
know, because thou must be imploide as an